


Dare I Ask

by WillowDeville



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hanzo's dragons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-07-08 11:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15929945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowDeville/pseuds/WillowDeville
Summary: When Jesse returns to Overwatch after the recall, he doesn’t think much of Hanzo Shimada. Hanzo is tight-lipped and arrogant, hardly ever around, and doesn’t really seem to fit in with their little group of heroes. Jesse doesn’t much care for the man, until one night, when he discovers a different Hanzo Shimada, one who isn’t afraid to open up if only one dares to ask.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting anything for these two, and I’m only a little nervous. It took me a while to fall in love with them, but there are so many fabulous writers in this fandom, and your stories eventually made me fall head over heels. And they also gave me lots of plot bunnies, so here’s the first part of one of them. I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> This is un-beta'ed so any mistakes are my own.

Jesse fumbles for the door panel. It takes him two tries before the door finally opens, and he grunts when he gracelessly stumbles against the doorframe.

“Damn ya’, Reeha,” he curses under his breath and rubs the sore spot on his shoulder as he staggers from his room and makes his way along the corridor. He should’ve known better than to let her choose the drinks. Should’ve stuck to his good old bourbon, hell, should’ve listened to those damn alarm bells when she started ordering shots. Considering how many Bloody Brains they downed in between the red wine and the Martinis, he’s not really surprised his head hurts as if it’s been down a bowling alley.

He follows the dim night lighting towards the communal area, steadier on his feet as his sleep-drunkenness slowly wears off. The air conditioning out here is far too cold for his liking, and he contemplates going back to put on his boots but discards the thought when his stomach growls at him, reminding him why he is up at this unholy hour in the first place. At least it wasn’t a nightmare that woke him up this time. As unpleasant as it is, he certainly prefers the stale taste of a hangover to the gore his treacherous mind comes up with some nights.

He lifts his head and sniffs the air as he gets closer to the kitchen. Someone’s cooking, something rich and spicy. Maybe Fareeha wasn’t quite as ‘un-drunk’ as she claimed when she deposited him at his door earlier before swaying off towards her own room.

The natural warmth of the summer night wraps around him as he steps into the kitchen, and he’s instantly grateful to whoever had the foresight to ask Athena to switch off the air conditioning and opened a window instead. Damn those heathens that can’t appreciate a breeze of real fresh air. The hum of the extractor fan above the stove seems louder than usual against the quiet of the hour, and he’s half-expecting to find Jack and Ana sitting at the end of the table, going through mission briefs or secret intel. His step falters when he realizes that it’s neither of them but Genji’s brother Hanzo who stares back at him from the other side of the room, a wooden spoon poised in his hand as if he’s wielding a sword.

“Whoa there, darlin’, I come in peace.” Jesse quickly holds up his hands to show he’s unarmed but can’t hide a smirk when he notices Hanzo’s bare feet sticking out from underneath a pair of sweatpants that is clearly too long to be his own. Genji’s, most likely. “I hope you don’t plan on scraping my eyes out with that, I ain’t got nothing to defend myself.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes at him. “Then you are a fool.”

Jesse snorts but keeps an eye on Hanzo as he makes his way over to the fridge. He’s seen Hanzo’s aim and has no doubt Hanzo can still harm him if he wants to, even with something as unthreatening as a wooden spoon. “At two o’clock at night, with Winston’s radar and an annoyingly all-knowing AI to watch over us, I think I’ll take my chances. Not sure I’m sober enough to handle any kinda weapon responsibly right now anyway.”

“I will remind you of that next time you request access to the firing range while intoxicated, Agent McCree,” Athena pipes in, and Jesse scrambles to catch the carton of milk that topples from the fridge when he yanks open the fridge door a little too forcefully.

“Damn! Ya’ trying to give me a freakin’ heart attack?”

“A heart attack is very unlikely, Agent. Your vitals are within normal range. You are merely suffering from dehydration due to excessive alcohol consumption,” Athena states.

Jesse rolls his eyes. “You’re really helping me make a grand first impression here.” She definitely knows too much for her own good. And his, for that matter. He puts the milk back onto the shelf it fell from and chances a glance over the door.

Hanzo’s eyes are wide, as if he doesn’t quite believe what kind of scene has just played out in front of him. When he catches Jesse watching him, he raises an eyebrow and makes a point of letting his eyes wander down to Jesse’s own bare feet and back up to his face, completely unashamed. Obviously having come to the conclusion that neither Jesse nor the situation is worthy of any more of his time, he turns back towards the stove where what looks like ramen is steaming from a single, small pot.

Well, this is going well. Jesse huffs and forces himself to focus on the content of the fridge, all too aware of his heavy head once more. He isn’t sure what he was expecting. Since the day they first met a few weeks ago, Hanzo Shimada has never dignified him with more than a simple ‘Greetings’. The man still carries himself with the confidence and arrogance of a leader who’s used to making the rules rather than following them, and Jesse still isn’t convinced that it was such a good idea to let him join Overwatch. He isn’t the only one, as even though Hanzo, who was already in Gibraltar when Jesse eventually answered the recall, regularly outperforms most of the other agents in their training simulations, Winston still seems to be reluctant to send him out into the field, much to Genji’s chagrin. Hanzo never comments when Genji fights his corner for him, and Jesse doesn’t know what to think about that either. However, Genji says he trusts his brother, and Jesse trusts Genji to know what he’s doing, so he keeps his mouth shut and his distance from Hanzo. And truth be told, with a past like his own, Jesse has no right to judge anyone for what they might or might not have done in theirs.

“Where is your hat, cowboy?” Hanzo suddenly asks, his voice sharp. “I didn’t think you ever went anywhere without it.”

Jesse shuts the fridge and places a pack of bacon and some eggs onto the worktop not far from the bowl Hanzo has set aside for whatever he’s cooking. At least being judgmental seems to be a mutual thing. He can live with that. “You know, if you’re trying to make friends, I’m not sure that’s the right way to go about it,” he says. He fishes some toast from the bread bin and grabs a frying pan from the wall.

“I’m not here to make friends,” Hanzo says without looking at him. He dips his spoon into his pot of ramen and leans forward to taste the broth. Jesse has no idea if Hanzo’s pinched expression is one of disapproval or simply the standard scowl he wears most of the time, but the broth seems to taste good enough to be deemed edible. Hanzo puts down the spoon and pours the whole lot into the bowl, dropping the empty pot into the sink.

Only then does Jesse notice the set of plastic containers next to the bowl, and he swallows the remark that sits on his tongue. A familiar feeling settles around his heart as he watches Hanzo pick up a leftover pack of noodles and a few individual packets of salt, the ones one can get at a fast food restaurant or truck stop, and carefully arrange them inside one of the containers. A small dispenser of some sort goes into another. Jesse knows a vagabond when he sees one, recognizes the signs without having to look too closely. Carrying basic supplies in small doses, stocking up whenever one gets a chance, wherever one gets a little extra. For years he did the same, a small backpack with an even smaller cooling pocket the only personal item he carried with him apart from his gun.

He waits until Hanzo has tidied up all his supplies and settled at the table before he steps up to the stove to prepare his own food. He’s always considered himself a private person, someone who’s more than comfortable with his own company, but he still knows the value of a permanent roof over his head and a place he can return to after a mission. This old base may not be in its heyday anymore, but Jesse actually prefers this patchwork of technology and people to the sleek mass operation of the old Overwatch, or even Blackwatch. He likes that the bed and the window in his quarters are carved into the rock, but the door still requires his fingerprint to open. He likes the new upgrades to his arm and having a place to hang his hat at night. He likes reminiscing about old times with Mercy and Fareeha and watching Hana and Lucio wow their fans with skills he would never have dreamed of being useful on a real frontline. And he likes that the kitchen is always well stocked.

The fact that Hanzo is accustomed to life on the road doesn’t really surprise him, but seeing him hold on to the habits of that lifestyle when there’s clearly no need doesn’t sit right with him. He’s unsure what irks him more, the possibility that Hanzo might still be thinking of leaving or that he doesn’t feel he can settle in this place, despite all the comfort and amenities it offers. And he bets his hat that Genji doesn’t know about his brother’s little portable stash.

“You planning on leaving?” he says, tilting his head towards the containers now stacked on the chair next to Hanzo. He places his own plate of bacon and scrambled egg on toast on the table and sits down opposite him. “Not sure if that’d be a smart move. I know at least one person who’d be mighty peeved if you just upped and disappeared after you snooped us out.”

Hanzo’s head snaps up, and Jesse knows instantly he’s hit a target, but maybe not the one he was aiming for. A frown flickers over Hanzo’s face, and for a moment he looks confused and oddly stung. When he realizes what Jesse is looking at, he schools his expression back into his usual scowl and quickly pushes the chair next to him further under the table and the containers out of sight. “I am also not here to disappoint the people who have offered me nothing but respect and a chance for redemption.”

Now it is Jesse who raises an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the glint of openness and vulnerability he thinks he has just witnessed. Admittedly, they haven’t spent much time in each other’s company, because Hanzo doesn’t spent much time with anyone, not even Genji. He joins briefings and training session when he’s asked to, and Jesse has seen his name on the weekly shopping roster a couple of times, teamed up with Hana, of all people, but apart from that Hanzo remains consistently absent from any meal or social gathering. “He doesn’t like crowds”, Genji told Hana once when she asked where he was during movie night. Jesse always assumed that Hanzo simply doesn’t much care for the banalities of small talk and popcorn but given how awkward their attempt at conversation tonight has been so far, he wonders if Hanzo actually knows how to _do_ small talk and popcorn.

“Might want to try and repay their efforts with some gratitude,” he says. For some reason he thinks Hanzo needs to hear this, and since Jesse already managed to get him a nudge off his high horse, he may as well make him hear it now. “If they’re showing you respect, it’s not because they’re serving your clan. Remember that.”

Hanzo lowers his eyes and stares at his food, absentmindedly pushing the noodles around the bowl with his chopsticks. “I have not been part of that clan for a long time,” he growls but says nothing more.

If Jesse’s interest wasn’t piqued after that last statement, it is now. He’s no stranger to the Shimada family history, probably knows more about the former clan than most people, thanks to his time with Blackwatch. He was in Hanamura ten years ago, sent in as part of the ground team to monitor the situation after Sorijo Shimada had died suddenly. Back then not even Reyes had expected it to go down the way it did. They weren’t unfamiliar with the brutality some of Sorijo’s clan members conducted their business with, and were anticipating trouble to come Genji’s way, considering many of Sorijo’s followers made no secret of what they thought of the ‘spoiled’ younger brother. They weren’t prepared for the deciding blow to come from Genji’s own brother, though, nor for the ruthlessness and ferocity with which Hanzo attacked.

He watches Hanzo silently as he digs into his own food. Even though the stern look on Hanzo’s face remains, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by Jesse’s presence, his eyes fixed on the bowl in front of him. He eats slowly, his mind evidently miles away, and at one point, Jesse wonders if Hanzo has forgotten that he’s actually still there.

It’s hard to imagine that this is the same man who almost killed his own brother ten years ago. Who cut Genji up so badly the only way to save him was to replace the body parts Hanzo had shredded with cybernetics. Jesse isn’t particularly fond of the memories. Once Genji was rebuilt and back on his feet, it didn’t take much to convince him to join Blackwatch. They didn’t get along, not at first. Genji was wild, furious with resentment and anger, and way too eager to make use of the weapon they had turned him into. He thought he had lost his dragon, but even without his spirit companion, he was more lethal than any of the other Blackwatch agents. His determination to take revenge on his brother and the clan was bordering on obsession, an addiction to eliminate anyone and anything with even the faintest connection to the Shimada empire. He killed without remorse, and Reyes let him, time and time again.

He didn’t manage to kill Hanzo, though, mainly because no one could find him. Genji tried, hell, he tried, but whenever he managed to get a lead on a location, Hanzo was long gone by the time they reached it. He usually left behind a bunch of dead clan members, most of them peppered with arrows. Between the two brothers, they probably killed off half the clan in those first few years. Since then, the Shimada numbers have tumbled, and Hanzo has become much more economic with his arrows. Jesse knows, because he has seen how many kills Hanzo makes with only the content of one quiver.

Across from him, Hanzo moves. He gets up from his seat but leaves his bowl behind. For a moment, Jesse thinks he’s leaving, but Hanzo only walks over to the fridge and grabs a bottle of beer. He removes the cap but stops half way back to the table, apparently remembering himself.

“My apologies,” he says and points back towards the fridge. “Do you want one as well?”

Jesse’s sure he should rather drink water than add more alcohol to his hangover but now that the offer is on the table, it’s hard to resist. Especially as it’s Hanzo who’s offering, and Jesse has the feeling he doesn’t do so very often.

“Yeah, go on,” he says with only a little regret. A beer isn’t the worst thing he could have with his midnight breakfast.

He watches as Hanzo grabs another bottle and quickly opens it before coming back to the table. He lowers himself back onto his seat and slides Jesse’s beer across the table.

“Thank you kindly.” Jesse easily catches it.

Hanzo takes a long pull from his own bottle, regarding Jesse over the top of it. He meets Jesse’s eye and doesn’t look away, not even when he lowers the bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He may be lacking social skills, but he certainly isn’t shy.

Jesse holds his gaze and smirks. Now that’s something he can work with.

Hanzo’s reaction is instant as he snorts and averts his eyes. He sets down his bottle and picks up his chopsticks again, and Jesse recognizes the challenge. He’s curious and Hanzo knows it. This time, when Hanzo focuses back on his food, he’s definitely aware that he’s still being watched, and Jesse takes it as an invitation to take a closer look.

And a good look it is. Never mind the time of night, Hanzo looks immaculate, even dressed in nothing more than a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His hair is neatly tied back and there’s something about the contrast of the vibrant colors of the tattoo covering his left arm and the grey in his beard and at his temples that makes him look distinguished. Jesse has seen the full glory of the tattoo, once or twice during training sessions, and he can’t deny that it’s a damn fine piece of work. Certainly better than the old Deadlock skull that used to decorate his own arm, back when he still had two of his own. Arms, that is. He still has two tattoos.

He remembers Genji’s tattoo, or what was left of it when they hauled his half-dead body out of Japan and into Angela’s medbay. It was nowhere near as big as Hanzo’s, scrapes of green barely visible amongst all the flesh, blood and bone of his shoulder. He remembers the dying flicker of the spirit as Angela struggled to keep Genji alive, and Genji’s agony when he thought his dragon was lost for good. To his relief, the dragon returned, and once they had been reunited, Genji finally mellowed, to a degree. But if the ink was what manifested the bond with the spirit in the first place and if it bore any resemblance to its appearance, Hanzo’s dragon must be one mighty thing of a beast.

Jesse clears his throat to get Hanzo’s attention. “So,” he starts. “Your tattoo. I’ve seen Genji’s dragon. Do you– “

“Two.”

“Pardon?”

Hanzo glares at him, but he doesn’t look anywhere near as irritated as Jesse thought he would. “Dragons,” Hanzo clarifies. “I have two. I assume that was what you were going to ask.”

It takes Jesse’s brain a few seconds to catch on to that information and how willingly Hanzo has given it up, but once it does, he can’t quite stop his mouth from running away with him. “Well, I’ll be damned. You ever thought of introducing them to us?”

“They are ancient spirit creatures,” Hanzo snarls, but he sounds more exasperate than threatening. “Their purpose is to aid me against my enemies, not to entertain. They are not pets.” Just on cue and as if to substantiate the sentiment, the extractor fan above the stove cuts off and an owl cries outside the window.

Jesse grins. “Do they have names?”

Hanzo narrows his eyes at him. “I will not tell you their names, McCree. They are not something to give away lightly, especially not to someone I hardly know.”

 _Or trust_ , Jesse adds in his head but resists the urge to say it out loud. He’s starting to warm to this man. Whatever he thought of Hanzo before, he thinks he’s being proven wrong, right here, right now. Hanzo may not like crowds, but he isn’t afraid to talk if only one dares to actually talk to him. Jesse knows the feeling, all too familiar with people being too intimidated by his reputation, and possibly his getup, to approach him.

“The last time I fought someone who knew their names, I almost got killed,” Hanzo continues.

“Genji.” Jesse thinks he knows what Hanzo is referring to. Genji told him how he had finally managed to track down his brother because Hanzo had made it a tradition to return to their hometown every year on the anniversary of their fight.

Hanzo nods.

“Heard about that,” Jesse says. “Not sure Hanamura was the best choice you could’ve picked for your little reunion.”

“It was our home once,” Hanzo states, aiming a steady stare at Jesse. “And I believed my brother to be dead.”

“So you thought you just go back every year on the same day, to the place where even the birds will recognize you with their eyes shut, and no one would take notice? I’d say you didn’t much care if you got killed or not.”

Hanzo huffs, a hint of a smile flickering over his lips before they turn into a firm, straight line again. “Says the man with a sixty-million-dollar bounty on his head who thought it a good idea to board a train to Houston. I don’t think you are in any place to lecture me, _cowboy_.”

“Huh!” Maybe it’s his hangover, or the glint in Hanzo’s eye just before he coolly sets aside his chopsticks and downs the rest of his beer, but for a moment, Jesse is rendered speechless. Then two things become blatantly obvious to him all at once, and he almost laughs at his own ignorance. For one, he shouldn’t underestimate this man, because Hanzo knows much more about him than he was let to believe. And two, he now also knows what it feels like to be outwitted by the man with the awkward tongue.

A smile spreads across his face before he can stop himself. He likes this man. He levels his eyes at Hanzo’s and raises his bottle in a one-sided toast. “Well, ain’t that the truth.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission doesn't quite go to plan.

Another bullet misses him. It’s a close call, too close for comfort, if you ask Jesse, as it whizzes past his ear. Of course, this isn’t just the local militia trying to sell some random-ass EMP technology to the highest bidder. A second bullet clips his hat. He has a feeling this has just turned personal.

_"Talon incom… head up…"_ Lena calls through the comm. _"Under fire…"_

“No shit Sherlock,” he growls as he sprints across the street and takes a sharp right, getting rid of another black cladded figure lurking under an archway ahead before he ducks back into the shadow of the building. Gunfire echoes around him, but the thwacks of bullets burying themselves into the buildings or bouncing off the cobblestones give him some reassurance. Whoever taught these goons to shoot, didn’t do a very good job.

There are more footsteps than just his own beating over the ground. Another Talon agent tries to jump him from one of the alleys and eats a bullet for his efforts. Above him, an arrow hisses through the air. A gurgled scream follows, and a body topples from the roof to his right. Good. At least Hanzo is still with him.

Jesse keeps running. They need to find cover. For a moment he can only hear his boots hitting the pavement and his own heavy breathing, then the firing starts up again, further up in town. The houses around him turn more colorful the further he goes, and he swings around the rusty carcass of an old car and rounds another corner.

“Oh, dammit,” he swears and forces his feet to stop before he steps completely out onto the open plaza in front of him. He manages not to flinch when Hanzo quietly lands on the sidewalk beside him.

“This way.” Hanzo grabs his arm and pulls him through a doorway into the nearest building.

An old hotel, it seems. They’ve stumbled right into the lobby, and despite the adrenaline pumping through his body, Jesse is hit with the same nostalgia he felt when they first set foot in this town about half an hour ago. The building is imposing, old colonial style with pilasters and balconies that hint at its former purpose and grandeur. There are tiles missing from the checkered floor, and the fountain in the center of the room has long since dried out. What remains of the dark wooden furniture is broken and in disarray, but he has no doubt this place was once jaw-droppingly luxurious and beautiful. Jesse clears his throat and rights his hat. He’s always loved Cuba. It’s just his luck he gets busted here.

Keeping an arrow nocked, Hanzo moves to one of the windows and elbows the curtain aside to peek out at the plaza.

Jesse’s comm line pops and crackles. He positions himself on the other side of the window before he yanks the earpiece out of his ear and blows on it the good old-fashioned way.

He has barely pushed it back in when Lena comes back on the line. _"I swear to God, Jesse, if you don’t answer me right this second, I will tell Angela what happened to her favorite coffee pot."_

“Hold your horses, darlin’. We’re a little busy down here.”

There’s no reply, only static. Hanzo tilts his head and frowns at Jesse. He reaches up to tap his own earpiece. “This is Shimada Hanzo,” he says, and Jesse raises a confused eyebrow. “Agent McCree is fine, but it seems his communication link has been damaged.”

_"Oh, thank God_. _Almost thought the old git bit the bullet."_

“Ah, you of no faith,” Jesse grumbles.

“I’m afraid he can still hear you, Miss Oxton,” Hanzo says flatly, but Jesse doesn’t miss the little crinkle around his eyes. Well, at least someone’s having fun.

_"Sorry, luv, didn’t mean it that way,"_ Lena replies, cheerily as ever. _"I’m just glad you two haven’t been turned into Swiss cheese down there. We’ve got the EMP, and the others are close to the pickup point, but I can’t get a location on you. Something’s interfering with the signal."_

Jesse scans the room for anything that might tell them where they are and ends up grabbing what looks like the remains of an old menu card from one of the tables. He holds it up so Hanzo can read the hotel’s name at the top.

“We’re at the Grand Plaza Hotel,” Hanzo informs Lena curtly, and Jesse smirks.

This is the third time Winston has teamed him up with Hanzo, and even though he has to admit that they work well together, Hanzo still rarely talks, to either him or any of the others. Maybe the broken comm isn’t such a bad thing, all things considered. It will force the old grump to be a team player for once. Not that Hanzo doesn’t play his part. Quite the opposite. Jesse hasn’t felt as confident on a mission as he does when Hanzo is around for a very long time, but Hanzo still acts like he’s just an add-on rather than part of the clockwork. He only really partakes when they’re on the ground, distancing himself from the rest of the team as soon as they’re back in transit, and disappears completely once their back on base. Jesse doubts he’s heard him string together more than two sentences since their nightly meeting in the kitchen.

Jesse is used to the chatter on the line. It keeps him grounded, reminds him that he’s never alone in this. Reminds him of old times, too, when he and Gabe used to drive the others mad with their endless arguments while on an open channel. He’s never been the most subordinate agent, as Jack keeps reminding him on a regular basis, but after more than six years on his own, being part of a team again makes for a welcome change.

_"Gotcha,"_ Lena says. _"Bad news is that you’ll need to get to the other side of the plaza, though, I can’t land where you are. Lots of activity down there as well, if you were meaning to distract Talon from the rest of the team, I’d say you did a bloody good job."_

“Something’s distracted them alright,” Jesse murmurs. He flicks the menu back onto the table and peers through the window. Someone has found a better prize than an old, rickety EMP.

Hanzo taps his earpiece again. “Where do you want us to go?”

_"Can you see the blue building? Next to the church?”_

Jesse squints as he surveys the outside. “Yup,” he says. He can feel Hanzo’s eyes on him but doesn’t look up to meet them.

“We will meet you there,” Hanzo says.

_"Roger that,"_ Lena chirps. _"Just leave your lines open, Athena’s still trying to get through whatever is jamming us.”_

“Understood,” Hanzo replies, and Jesse straightens up to survey the rest of the room for the best route out of the building.

The shortest route would take them straight across the plaza, but even though his aim is still as accurate as ever, he’s not twenty anymore. Whatever is preventing Athena from tracking them is also affecting the cybernetics in his shoulder, the muscles and ligaments around the artificial joint screaming with the exertion of having to work three times as hard every time he tries to use his prosthetic hand a little too quickly. His hip hasn’t played up just yet, but he’s not keen on tripping over his own feet with nothing more than palm trees and old park benches to crawl behind, especially since this Talon pack seems rather determined to bury a bullet in his head.

He steps away from the window and carefully makes his way past the old reception desk towards a set of double doors behind it. Peacekeeper at the ready, he pushes one of them open with his shoulder and spies through the gap. Beyond lies another room, as abandoned as the first, with a single, rotten couch that has long lost any kind of color forlornly standing at the foot of an impressive staircase winding itself towards the upper floor. A thick layer of dust, flakes of peeled-off paint and dead leaves blown in through the broken windows cover the floor, undisturbed except for a track of paw prints where a cat must have visited recently. Straight across, an archway leads into another room along the front of the building.

“It is too quiet,” Hanzo says behind him.

Jesse agrees. He reckons they managed to eliminate less than a third of the mob that was initially following them when they got cut off from the others, and this place was probably the most obvious to use for cover. Someone should’ve found them by now, smoked them out.

“Let’s get going then,” he says and pushes against the door, holding it open until Hanzo has squeezed past him.

They make quick progress, ducking under windows and behind more forgotten furniture as they make their way through the length of the old hotel. Nothing disturbs them, and Jesse doesn’t like it one bit. This is all too easy.

“Here.” Hanzo stops at a window missing its frame.

A glance through the opening reveals that they’ve reached another corner of the plaza, the blue building now easily visible at the end of a long row of houses that line the square. Most of them are boarded up with wooden planks and metal bars, but halfway down, one house looks grander than the rest, with a pillared balcony and doors that stand slightly ajar.

“We can get cover in there,” Jesse says, pointing towards the building. “If you get back up on the roof, you’ll have a better view if anyone or anything is following us, and I’ll deal with the ground forces. Just holler if you need a hand.”

Next to him, Hanzo scoffs. “I do not need a baby–"

“Oh no, stop right there,” Jesse interrupts him before Hanzo gets a chance to finish his remark. That man really needs to get out more. “Don’t insult me by putting words in my mouth. I know damn well what you’re capable of, and you know damn well what I can do. All I’m saying is that you need to talk to me if anything is amiss up there, and I’ll return the favor, if I need to. This isn’t one of your solo missions, so you’ll have to have my back, and I’ll have yours.”

They stare at each other. Hanzo’s eyes are boring into Jesse’s, fierce and unwavering, and for a moment Jesse thinks he’s gone too far when he sees Hanzo’s jaw clench. Then those eyes flicker, as if something just behind Jesse caught their attention, and as fast as their weird stalemate came to be it is broken.

Jesse ducks just as Hanzo releases his arrow. He spins around, but their pursuer is already down, wheezing and clawing at the shaft piercing his throat, eyes wide and horrified. They don’t wait for the man to meet his end but share a quick glance and a silent nod before they scramble through the window.

They barely make it to the corner of the next building before gunfire erupts around them. Hanzo scales the nearest wall and disappears out of view, while Jesse ducks into a doorway, only to move out again when a bullet bursts into the door just inches from his head.

_"They are coming across the open,"_ Hanzo’s voice barks in his ear. _"Fools."_

_Maybe so_ , Jesse thinks with a smirk and brings down one of their attackers, then another. Hanzo’s condescendence spurs him on, the knowledge that this cocky ass on the rooftops above him is on his side giving him a boost he hasn’t felt in combat since fighting alongside Reyes. He’s surrounded by noise, shouts, gunfire, the hiss of Hanzo’s arrows, and still he feels calm, his senses sharp, euphoric with the confidence Hanzo’s presence gives him. He ducks and moves, reloads and shoots. Windows shatter and concrete walls explode around him. A bullet grazes his shoulder, but Jesse hardly notices. He feels like thunder, loud and deadly for anyone who ends up too close to him, while Hanzo is the lightning that follows, mostly silent but just as deadly. Together they make up the perfect storm.

He makes it to the halfway point and edges through the door into the dark room beyond. A few more bullets hit the outside façade before the gunfire abruptly dies down again. He kicks the door shut. Above his head, a floorboard creaks, and a moment later, Hanzo drops through a hole in the ceiling and lands next to him. “Not bad, partner. We make a good– “

“You bigheaded hypocrite!” Hanzo is on him in a flash, his face twisted in a furious snarl as he grabs Jesse by his serape and yanks him forward, close enough for Jesse to feel his breath hot against his face.

“Whoa!” Jesse shoves him away. “What’s all this about?”

Hanzo lets go of him, but doesn’t take more than a step back, still poised for a fight. He points an accusing finger at him. “Do not assume that I have not noticed what they are aiming at, McCree. They barely wasted a single shot on me, they are after you, and they don’t want you alive!”

“Well…” Jesse starts but snaps his mouth shut when Hanzo bares his teeth at him in a clear warning. Hanzo’s right. After his own outburst earlier, it would be damn rude to deny what Hanzo has clearly figured out by himself.

A muffled thump interrupts their argument. Something cuts through the air, coming closer. _Missile_ , Jesse’s brain screams at him, but by the time he makes the connection, it’s too late.

Hanzo crashes into him, tackles him to the ground. Jesse’s head slams against the floor, stars exploding in front of his eyes while the room blows up around them. The front of the building rushes towards them, the ceiling caves in, and Jesse has just enough awareness left to throw his arms over his head and curl up his body as bricks and beams rain down on him. Fire burns through his armor, nips at his skin, singes his hair. The earth moves. There’s a loud crack and someone shouts his name, but the blows don’t stop. Something pulls at him, somewhere. He thinks he can still feel the warmth of Peacekeeper’s handle against his palm, but both the thought and the sensation soon get lost beyond recognition as he plunges into darkness.

Eventually, even earth stops rumbling.

The silence stretches, eerily, like a cold winter morning after a snowstorm.

Jesse is about to resign himself to finally having pulled the trigger for the last time when a piercing pain shoots through his hip and catapults him back to consciousness.

He groans. Not dead then. No dead body can possibly ache this much. His head’s splitting and his thoughts feel like they’re lost in a swamp, heavy and sluggish. Overwatch is here. Was here. Blown up. Something warm trickles down the side of his face. He can smell dust and blood. He can _taste_ blood. A voice fades in and out like a broken comm line.

Jesse struggles to open his eyes. It’s too bright, and he quickly turns his head and, with some effort, shadows his eyes with his hand. Against all odds, he isn’t buried underneath a building. Instead, he’s somewhere outside, propped up against a wall.

A shadow falls over him, and a face appears in front of his own. It’s Hanzo, and he looks beautiful, all brown eyes and frown lines, warpaint on his cheeks. Jesse smiles a lazy smile. He can’t recall why Hanzo is here, but he’s pleased that he is nonetheless. “Hey there.”

Hanzo scoffs and pushes something into Jesse’s hand. Peacekeeper.

The sudden weight of his gun in his hand has a weirdly sobering affect, and he remembers where they are. Cuba, the payload, Talon. Someone recognized him and tried to take him out.

He still must look like a right mess, because Hanzo’s frown deepens as he taps his earpiece once more. “Miss Oxton, can you hear me? We need that med-evac, now.” When there is no immediate reply, he reaches up and pushes Jesse’s hair out of his face, inspecting whatever is hidden underneath.

“Ah, shit!” Jesse flinches hard enough to knock the back of his head against the wall behind him. Son of a bitch. Hanzo steadies him with a hand on his shoulder, but he swats it away. “I’m fine.”

“You have a head wound.”

“Not for the first time,” Jesse grumbles as he takes stock of the rest of his body. He may be bruised and battered but none of his bones feel broken. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll be right as rain.”

_"We’re on our way,"_ Lena’s voice comes through the comm. _"How’s Jesse?"_

Jesse looks up in surprise. He can’t have been rattled that badly if he hasn’t lost his earpiece. He grins at Hanzo and pointedly gives him a thumbs-up.

Hanzo just shakes his head and moves away from him. “Conscious and incorrigible.” He picks up his bow, nocks an arrow and peeks around what Jesse now recognizes as what’s left of the building they were hiding in earlier.

_"Make sure he sits tight, especially with that head injury."_  Lena is in his ear again. _"I’m almost with you."_

Jesse bites the inside of his cheek and heaves himself back to his feet. He’s fine, he can stand. He doesn’t need a med-evac. For a few seconds, his vision blurs as he tries to shake off the dust and rubble that cover his clothes, and he swallows the curse the sits on his tongue when his hand scrapes harshly against stone when he has to reach out to steady himself.

“McCree,” Hanzo snaps at him over his shoulder but doesn’t leave his post, the scowl on his face even more pissed off than usual. “Stay where you are. I cannot protect us both if you give away our position.”

“I can still shoot,” Jesse growls back at him. “How many?” He braces himself against the wall.

“Ten on the ground, two on the roof,” Hanzo grunts, his disapproval unmistakable.

“I can take six.” Jesse’s head still hurts, but the rest of his senses work fine. He can see a few arrows left in Hanzo’s quiver and takes a guess that between the two of them they can deal with a dozen. Easy. He checks his cylinder before clicking it back into the gun and pushes away from the wall, swaying only slightly as his mind takes over and his eye sharpens. He hears Hanzo call his name as he steps out of cover, but the world is already turning into the tell-tale red haze as the deadeye takes control. He quickly pinpoints five of their enemies, then a sixth.

_"Jesse, don’t you dare use- "_ someone shouts too close to him, probably Lena, possibly Ana, but his finger has already pulled the trigger. Six shots ring out, maybe seven, and then the noise hits him like an ancient freight train, deafening and excruciating, stabbing him in the shoulder, then his head. The haze turns blood-red. He can just make out Hanzo at the edge of his vision, firing his arrow, his battle cry filling the air. Jesse’s tilting dangerously. A blue flash rushes past him, through him, a final cool breeze against his skin before darkness takes the upper hand and mocks him into unconsciousness once more.

 

* * *

 

He comes to slowly. Instead of red the haze is grey, instead of gunfire there’s only the familiar hum of the Orca’s engines. He can hear someone talking in a low voice nearby.

His body feels heavy but pain free, the faint numbness to his head, and worryingly to his shoulder, the only signs that he hasn’t come away from the fight unscathed. His mind is still clouded, making it hard to remember what mission they’re on, what they were after, or who they were fighting. He can’t remember seeing Gabe, or at least not recently, but something tells him he’s relevant, somehow.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Lucio’s smiling face appears above him. “Good to have you back, my friend.”

Ana steps up next to Lucio, brows furrowed. “If it’d been up to me, I would’ve skipped the painkillers and let you suffer that headache for a while.”

They made it out. He can tell he’s frightened Ana by the way she presses her lips into a thin line and deliberately doesn’t meet his eyes when she adjusts the pillow under his head, but he can’t help feeling relieved and maybe even a little smug. He still has it in him to beat the odds. “Mm- “ he starts, but coughs and winces when he has to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. His throat feels like sandpaper. “Must’ve got ‘em, though,” he finally manages to rasp but the words come out no way near as coherent as he would’ve liked. He tries to push himself up but is stopped by a biting pain in his shoulder and the sharp click of Ana’s tongue.

“Not before they got you,” she says, but her touch is much gentler than her tone when she makes sure he lies back down. She takes the cup of water Lucio hands her and helps Jesse lift his head enough to drink from it. “There’s a bullet in your shoulder, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Jesse gulps down the cool liquid before resting his head back against the bed. Damn. Another scar for his collection. And it’s his crappy shoulder, too. He wonders how many more hits it can take before Angela has to replace the whole thing. He cranes his neck and squints at the white bandage that covers almost half his chest. That’s a lot of gauze for a single bullet hole. “Damn, ya’ ol’ bastard.”

He realizes that Ana and Lucio aren’t the only ones with him in the medical bay when his gaze is drawn past his bandaged shoulder to the other side of the cabin. Genji is folded into one of the seats lining the wall. Having taken off his faceplate and pulled the hood of his sweater over his head, he seems fast asleep. However, that isn’t what surprises Jesse. After all, years of Overwatch and Blackwatch missions have taught them to sleep whenever and wherever they can.

What is surprising is the man sitting right next to Genji. Hanzo has changed into fresh clothes, and he must have tried to clean up, ‘tried’ being the operative word, going by the smudges of blood and dirt along his neck and the grey dust clinging to his hair. He looks tired but still as regal as ever, his back ramrod straight and his arms crossed in front of his chest. And judging by the piercing stare he levels at Jesse, he’s also clearly still pissed off.

Ah, yes. The small matter of a whole bunch of Talon agents trying very hard to kill Jesse obviously hasn’t been forgotten yet. He remembers the mission again, the EMP they came here to secure, their misfortune when they were separated from the rest of the team. He isn’t so sure anymore if that was really all just bad luck on their part, but even if the whole thing had been orchestrated to eliminate him, it was clearly executed well under par.

A small turbulence rocks the Orca, and Jesse quickly squeezes his eyes shut to stop the room from spinning away from him. The dull pulse at his temple and the droning in his ears make him think that he’s about to pass out again, but then his right eye socket starts throbbing and he instantly knows why Ana is so prickly with him. He can recall the building blowing up around them but has only a vague idea of what happened after. He must have used his eye, and going by Ana’s mood, he probably didn’t do it responsibly. If there was ever a way to shoot people responsibly.

“How did we get out?” Jesse’s question is addressed at no one in particular, but he opens his eyes and fixes them on Hanzo. Whatever Jesse’s done, he’s not going to regret it. His pride may take a little knock, in case he did make a fool of himself, but he can live with that. He’s woken up in much more unfortunate situations than this, and they’re both still here, and in his book, that more than makes up for a few scrapes and bruises.

“You can thank Hanzo for that,” Ana says, still sounding annoyed. “He even brought your hat.”

Jesse’s eyes flicker away from Hanzo to the seat next to him, empty bar for Jesse’s red serape, neatly folded, and his cowboy hat atop, covered in the same grey dust as Hanzo’s hair. Jesse can’t stop the grin that takes over his face as he looks back at Hanzo. “That’s awfully kind of you,” he drawls.

Hanzo scowls at him. “Think nothing of it, cowboy. I was merely making sure that you kept your price tag a little longer.”

“Aw, darlin’, I didn’t know you cared.” He clearly isn’t off the hook after their little spat earlier, but he can’t say he minds.

Hanzo snorts in disgust and looks away. There’s a weird promise attached to his wrath, one that says they’re not done yet.

Jesse smirks. He likes a challenge, especially if it comes from one Hanzo Shimada. The man can give as good as he gets, be it out in the field or with his words, as sparse as they may be. And if that isn’t a hell of an attractive trait, Jesse really doesn’t know what is.

His grin grows wider when he notices Genji’s face from the corner of his eye. Genji hasn’t moved, seemingly still asleep and oblivious to what’s going on around him. But there’s the smallest of smiles ghosting over his lips, and Jesse can tell he’s listening. Seems like he isn’t the only one who’s pleased by how this all turned out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse has an unexpected encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, and they just seem to be getting longer and longer! Thank you so much to everyone who has stopped by and left kudos and comments etc, I’m so thrilled by the response to this! I think this is my favourite chapter so far, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it. Oh, and I’ve got my own little head-canon for Jesse’s arm, so I’m taking some liberties here as to how it works. Hope you enjoy. 😊

It takes four weeks before Hanzo mentions Cuba again.

Jesse squeezes through the gap in the rock and steps into the tunnel. The sound of waves crashing against cliffs below is instantly muted by the thick limestone surrounding him, and he flicks on his lighter and waits for his eyes to adjust. Ahead, a narrow path leads deeper into the rock, a secret passage hidden from view. Jesse ducks his head and pushes on, slowly making his way down the steady descent.

It’s hot for this time of the year, even for Gibraltar, but Jesse doesn’t mind. Especially not after the week he’s had. They went to Ireland, Jack, Lena and Jesse, to run recon on suspected Talon activity at an abandoned coal mine. Jack had decided they camp on an equally abandoned farm nearby, and the place was so cold and miserable, even the rats had left in search of a better life elsewhere.

They didn’t find anything other than crumbling buildings and flooded mineshafts, and to make matters worse, it rained solidly for five days of the seven they were there. Jesse doesn’t think he has ever seen so much water in his life. Or mud, and that stuff was outright evil. There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t have mud on his boots, up to his knees at least, under his fingernails, in the joints of his prosthetic, in his hair, even in his ears. Mud that turned him into lump of heavy limbs when it was wet but was like concrete when it dried, hard enough to make his pants stand up on their own once he managed to get out of them.

Under his feet the terrain changes, turning softer as more and more sand covers the path. The sound of the waves rises again as he comes closer to the end of the tunnel and the beach that lies beyond. Not many people know about this place, and the ones that do are only privy to that knowledge because they’ve been here before, during the old days. It used to be Gabe’s, his hideout after long missions or when the world or Jack became too much. The old sign is still there, the ‘Keep Off – Hazardous Area’ still keeping people from slipping underneath the barrier at the entrance of the old substation. There isn’t really anything hazardous around anymore, the transformer having been decommissioned a long time ago, but somehow this end of the watchpoint is still an area not many of the agents venture to.

By some unspoken rule the hidden bay has become Jesse’s now, and he sometimes likes to think of it as Gabe’s inheritance to him, if there is ever such a thing for someone who isn’t practically dead. But it’s not as if Reaper has ever asked for it back, and Jesse has the feeling that whatever priorities the guy has nowadays, they aren’t much in line with what the old Gabriel Reyes used to care for.

Ahead of him, the tunnel’s exit comes into view, and Jesse flicks his lighter shut and crams it into the pocket of his jeans. He is about to step through the opening and out onto the beach when he realizes that someone is already there. Or rather, something. He stalls as his heart forgets to function for a moment but then starts hammering against his ribcage as if he personally offended it, and he might have drawn his revolver, had he not left it behind in his room earlier.

Halfway down the beach sits Hanzo, his upper body turned to scowl at whoever is interrupting his peace, and behind him sits a dragon. A real goddamn dragon, all flesh and teeth and–

Jesse pulls himself together. With a hand on his hat, he ducks through the opening and walks out onto the beach. His current boss is a six hundred pound talking gorilla, and they have a Bastion unit tending the watchpoint’s garden, he might as well accept that Hanzo’s dragons are a real thing.

“I was not aware you had already returned,” Hanzo says as he gets to his feet. The dragon next to him sits up and coils his tail around its feet, but otherwise doesn’t seemed to be concerned about Jesse’s presence. “If you wish for some privacy, I will take my leave.”

“Oh no, don’t leave on my account.” Jesse quickly waves him off. Since their mission to Cuba, Hanzo has been making more of an effort to join the crew for meals, or even movie night on a rare occasion, and Jesse thinks he looks much less at war with himself for it. And although he may not have been prepared for the dragon, he doesn’t want it to disappear again so soon, now that he’s got a chance to take a closer look. He gestures at the flat piece of rock protruding from the sand to Hanzo’s right and takes a tentative step towards it. “I was just looking for a place to enjoy a drink without anybody breathing down my neck about healthy post-mission recuperation. Do you mind if I join you?”

Hanzo has leaned down to pick up his gourd and a brown paper bag from where he’s been sitting but hesitates in his movement and looks up, eyebrows raised in surprise. He slowly straightens up again and by the time he speaks, he wears his usual expression of indifference. “Go ahead.” He sits back down and crosses his legs, carefully placing his goods on the sand next to him. “Since it seems that we have similar intentions as to how we spend our time here, I cannot find any reason to object.”

“That’s very kind of ya’.” Jesse grins. Leave it to Hanzo to slip an insult in there even when he’s being nice.

Jesse unwraps his serape from his shoulders and spreads it across the rock. He pulls the cigars and his flask from his pocket and lowers himself onto the fabric, shifting until he’s comfortable enough.

Once he’s settled, he looks up and almost regrets having sat down. Two pairs of eyes are trained on him, and while he’s not unfamiliar with Hanzo’s intense stare, he’s never had to deal with the scrutiny of a dragon before. He has seen Genji’s spirit plenty of times, as a spirit, a ferocious ray of light, usually rushing away from him and towards an enemy. This creature, however, looks as real and solid as his right hand and stirs up memories of the few wild animals Jesse’s had close encounters with over the years, none of which were amicable. They once ran into a fully-grown bull moose, on a Blackwatch mission up in Alaska, and to this day just the thought of that monstrosity makes his skin crawl.

Hanzo’s dragon is not far off in size. Its head is definitely just as big, with long, greying whiskers and a coarse mane that continues all the way to the tip of its tail. Its whole body is covered in a myriad of bluish scales not too dissimilar from a snake’s skin, and it has paws like a lion with claws that dig deep furrows into the sand. Jesse moves more gingerly than he wants to admit when he pulls up one knee and rests his arm on it in an attempt to appear unfazed. Spirit dragon or not, this thing is big enough to snap him in half with a flick of its wrist, and even with Hanzo here, he’s not keen on risking upsetting it. He just hopes it is friendlier than its master.

“So,” he says, relieved that he sounds much more relaxed than he feels. “Didn’t you say you had two of these fellas?”

Hanzo snorts and takes a sip from his gourd. “You are off your game, cowboy. It must have been a strenuous mission to leave you so inattentive. Look at the water.” He nods his head towards the edge of the bay where the cliffs hang out over the water.

Jesse squints against the sun. Years of tidal erosion have formed a cave at the bottom of the cliff. At high tide it tends to get swallowed up by the waves, but when the water retreats back to sea, it leaves behind a small plateau of glistering rocks and a shallow pool at the base of the cave. There, submerged almost completely inside the pool, lies the second dragon, hidden away from prying eyes in the shadow of the cliff above. The only thing poking out of the water is its head, hooked over the edge of the pool like an anchor. From the distance, it looks a little darker in color than its twin, and maybe a little bigger, but that might just be the light, or lack thereof, playing tricks on Jesse.

He chuckles, still trying to hide how off-kilter this encounter makes him feel. “My grandpop’s old dog used to do that.” When Hanzo throws him a uncomprehending look, he gestures towards the dragon under the cliff. “Have a dunk in the cattle trough. Ya’ take what you can get if you live in the desert.” He purposely leaves out the part where he filled that trough plenty of times for himself. Hanzo sometimes still sneers at him as if he’s some kind of ruffian, and right now, Jesse has no desire to demonstrate how true that once was.

Hanzo huffs. “A rock pool is hardly the same as a cattle trough. But I guess the idea is the same. She is not as fond of the sun as her brother.”

Jesse cocks his head. Hanzo’s tone is clipped, but his gaze remains sternly glued to the dragon in the cave. If Jesse didn’t know any better, he’d say Hanzo seems more irritated with his dragon than with Jesse comparing her to a common farmer’s mutt.

“They do this often?” Jesse decides he has nothing to lose by asking. “I mean, get all real like that?”

“No. But they wished to meet you when it became apparent that you were coming this way.”

“Huh.” Jesse’s mouth is hanging open. He quickly snaps it shut and tips his hat to cover up his loss of composure. “Well, uhm, I feel honored… I guess.”

“So you should,” Hanzo says. “If it had been up to me, I would have taken my leave before you got here.”

Jesse feels like he should be offended, but this is so mindbogglingly bizarre, it leaves him rather unconcerned about standing up for himself. He doesn’t believe Hanzo anyway. If Hanzo truly had an issue with is company, he wouldn’t have stayed, never mind revealed his dragons.

“Can I ask you something?”

Hanzo doesn’t answer but regards him with a grimace that temps Jesse to tell him to stop being such a cranky ass. He has no idea how someone can be sitting on a beautiful beach like this, on a glorious day like today, and still be so miserable. However, whatever’s eating at Hanzo remains unsaid, and all Jesse gets is a short nod.

“Can you promise me an honest answer, or are you just gonna keep insulting me?”

“If that is your question, you should not have wasted your breath,” Hanzo growls.

Jesse clears his throat, raising a pointed eyebrow at him.

Hanzo stubbornly holds his gaze. When Jesse doesn’t back down, he grunts and waves his hand, encouraging him to go on.

“Do you never get lonely?” Jesse starts and quickly continues when Hanzo opens his mouth to interject. “Or at least fed up with having only your grumpy self to talk to, because I surely do when I stay away from folk for too long.”

“I have spent the last ten years like this, I am used to being on my own.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

Hanzo turns away and stares out at the sea, making no effort to hide his displeasure with being put on the spot. Next to him, his dragon puffs out a string of clicks, and Jesse is almost convinced he will just be ignored when Hanzo suddenly speaks. “It is why you can see the dragons,” he says. “They manifest as you see them now when they believe that I am in need of physical companionship. They are well aware of my inability to build or maintain relationships beyond those bound by contract or condition. This is their way of sparing me the humiliation of making a fool of myself in front of people who want to spend as little time as possible with me.”

“I don’t know.” Jesse grins. It’s certainly not what he expected, but if this is Hanzo’s honest attempt at opening up to someone, he can respect him for it. “I like being around you just fine.”

“You would,” Hanzo says, and for the first time the corner of his mouth twitches upwards rather than down.

“Hey now.” Jesse laughs, feigning hurt with a hand over his heart.

“My apologies.” Now there is definitely a hint of a smile. “I did not mean to offend. I merely believe that out of all the agents here, you are probably most familiar with the type of person I am.”

The dragon beside Hanzo shifts, touching his nose to Hanzo’s arm. Hanzo glances at his companion and then down at the paper bag he placed on the sand earlier. He reaches for it, grumbling something in Japanese, and pulls out a large bunch of grapes. Jesse can’t say he’s lost for words very often, but here he is, blatantly staring as Hanzo pops a grape into his mouth before leaving the rest to his dragon, who delicately starts nibbling the fruits off the stems.

He soon recovers, though, when he remembers Hanzo’s lecture about the dragons not being pets. This looks a hell of a lot like someone who’s treating his two companions to a swim and a picnic on the beach, but Jesse bites his tongue and keeps his thoughts to himself. Hanzo seems relaxed enough to allow him to witness this display of domesticity, and he doesn’t want to dishonor that gesture of trust just for the sake of having the last word.

“You have a spirit, too,” Hanzo says, looking back at him. “Your eye.”

Jesse chuckles. “A curse, more like. It certainly doesn’t keep me company when I’m lonely. You saw what it does to me when I use it.”

“I was under the impression it only had that effect because you were injured, from what Commander Amari told me. It was still very effective, I can only imagine the damage it would have caused if you had been in possession of all your strength.”

“Yeah, a lot of damage.” Jesse sighs and has to stop himself from rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand. “That’s exactly what it does, ‘s no good for much else.”

“Is that why Talon tried to kill you in Cuba?”

“Nah, nothing to do with my eye.” Jesse smirks. Of course, Hanzo hasn’t forgotten. Jesse hasn’t missed the way Hanzo’s eyes linger on him every time anything Talon related is mentioned during team meetings or mission briefings. He’s surprised it has taken Hanzo so long to bring it up. It’s no real secret, given most of the old guard know how close Jesse used to be to Gabe. However, that old guard also knows that some questions are best answered by the people involved rather than a bunch of unlucky bystanders, and since Gabe isn’t around to tell his part of the story, they would probably have sent Hanzo Jesse’s way anyway, had he asked. “I’m sure you’ve heard about Reaper.”

“We have met, once or twice,” Hanzo says coolly.

“You’ve met?”

“He tried to recruit me, but I never thought much of Talon and their way of operating.” Hanzo doesn’t even blink. “They were already a disagreeable organization when I was still part of the clan and have only deteriorated since then. But if Reaper wanted you dead, why did he not come for you himself, or at least, sent agents who actually knew how to get a job done? He has an excellent sniper at his disposal who could have taken you out with far less effort and bullets.”

“He doesn’t want me dead, that’s what’s got some of them so riled up.” Jesse can see why Talon would be interested in Hanzo. Most people who have come face-to-face with Reaper usually don’t talk about him as if he’s merely an acquaintance they have met ‘once or twice’. Most people who come face-to-face with him usually end up either traumatized or dead. “Does the name Gabriel Reyes mean anything to you?”

Hanzo’s eyes grow wide. “Your old Blackwatch commander?”

“The one and only.”

Hanzo frowns at that revelation as if he needs a second to fully comprehend it. He turns to pick another grape from what is by now a half-empty bunch, when his dragon meets his eye and, with a small tilt of his head, makes a soft clicking sound deep in his throat. Hanzo looks at the grape he holds between his fingers before turning back towards Jesse. “My apologies, I should’ve asked if you would like some as well.”

Jesse laughs and shakes his head. He has the distinct feeling that Hanzo has just been told off by his dragon.  “I’m good, but thanks for asking.”

Reprimanded or not, Hanzo just nods and pops the grape into his mouth. He chews while his dragon maneuvers the bunch with his snout to get better access to what’s left on it. “Your old commanders have a fascinating habit of returning from the dead.”

Jesse snorts. “Oh, I don’t think Gabe’s quite made it all the way back. But yeah, you’re not wrong there.”

“I am still not sure I understand,” Hanzo says. “He doesn’t want to kill you, but Talon does? Wouldn’t they be better off trying to hire a man with your talents, especially when your old commander already works for them?”

“Oh, they tried, but I’d rather die than join them. Almost did.” Jesse lifts his prosthetic arm and wiggles his fingers. “Thanks to Reaper they only got one arm and not the whole thing. Didn’t know it was him at the time, frankly, they got me so bad I still can’t rightly say what got me into that mess in the first place. One moment I’m scouting out this old omnic base in Mexico, next thing I know, I’m shackled to a gurney in some underground lab, hooked up to about a dozen tubes and wires. Reaper got me out and dropped me off half-dead on Angela’s doorstep. Only figured out who he was much later, though, after my lil’ train ride to Houston.”

“So they believe he is compromised?”

“They know he is,” Jesse says. “He turns on them every time we run into each other, and he isn’t subtle about it. I bet half the intel Winston keeps finding on Talon comes from Reaper, but they still keep him around. Too greedy to let go of an asset who defies death himself.” He still doesn’t always know how to deal with his feelings when it comes to Gabe, or how much of Gabe there really still is behind all that smoke and the mask Reaper hides behind.

Hanzo hums. He opens his mouth but then shuts it again, and Jesse thinks it’s the first time he’s seen Hanzo truly hesitate. Whatever it is that goes through Hanzo’s mind, it must be important enough for him to choose his words carefully before letting them loose.

“You and Commander Reyes,” he eventually starts, “were you…?”

It takes Jesse a moment before he gets what Hanzo is asking, but when he does, he can’t help but laugh. He’s not surprised, Hanzo isn’t the first to make that assumption and probably won’t be the last. Jesse might even have considered it once, back when Gabe had pulled him out of Deadlock and under his wing. He was certainly swayed by the whole super soldier attitude Gabe had going on, but on that fateful day twenty years ago, he also met Jack Morrison, and it took him less than ten minutes of watching the two of them hurl accusations at each other across that dingy table Jesse was handcuffed to, to figure out that Gabriel Reyes was already spoken for.

“No man, that broken heart belongs to someone else,” he says, conscious of how wistful he sounds. “Still bites like a rattler, though. Part of me wants to believe that there’s still some good left in him, that the real Gabe’s still in there, somehow. He was the first person who ever looked at me long enough to see beyond the crazy-eyed killing machine Deadlock had turned me into, and believe me, I was a scary little shit, hotheaded and uncontrollable once I got going. I wouldn’t be who I am today without him. But he was also the one that brought us all down, I’m sure Talon had already wrapped their fingers around him long before Overwatch went down. He could’ve warned us, but he chose not to, and you can fool me once, and I might forgive you, but I won’t be fooled if you come around a second time. He is where he is, and I am where I am, and it’s good that way.”

He takes a deep breath and reaches for his flask, taking a long drink from his whiskey. He didn’t plan to say all this, didn’t quite expect to talk so much. No one has ever really asked him about what happened with Gabe, not Ana, not Jack, not even Fareeha. And here’s Hanzo, who Jesse has known for less than a few months, asking him one simple question, and it all comes flooding out.

Hanzo is watching him. From his silence and his slightly pinched expression Jesse takes he probably didn’t expect such a swell of words either.

Unheeding of what’s going on beside him, Hanzo’s dragon finishes off the last of the grapes. He licks his snout a few times and stands up, only to circle around his own axis and lower himself back onto the sand with a quiet grunt. Hanzo sweeps up the empty stem and the paper bag, and the dragon curls up and winds his long tail around his body until the tip comes to rest against the side of Hanzo’s leg.

Hanzo tidies the leftovers into a neat pile before he looks back up and meets Jesse’s eye. “Thank you for telling me.”

Jesse is still not entirely sure why he has, but what’s done is done, and he doesn’t get the feeling Hanzo is one to use that newly gained knowledge against him.

For a while, neither of them says anything. It’s not uncomfortable, and Jesse wonders if they should do this more often. Share a drink and a heart-to-heart, for both their sakes. He shakes out his legs and stretches them out in front of him and briefly considers taking off his boots but decides against it. He’s laid bare enough of himself for one day to feel more than a little raw, he doesn’t want to make it any more awkward by waving around his smelly feet.

In the cave beneath the cliff, the other dragon stirs, lifting her head for the first time to scan her surroundings. She spots them, and even though Jesse can’t see her eyes from where he’s sitting, he knows he’s being scrutinized for a second time.

“Your lady’s woken up,” he says. “Hope she doesn’t mind another party guest.”

“She has been aware of your presence for some time.” Hanzo sounds preoccupied. When Jesse chances a glance at him, Hanzo is staring towards the cliffs but his eyes have glazed over. He has followed Jesse’s lead and unfolded his legs into a more comfortable position and is absentmindedly kneading his thumb into the muscles around his left knee.

“Your knee giving you trouble?” Jesse asks.

Hanzo stills. He glares at his knee as if its mere existence has affronted him. Eventually he lets out a sigh and starts massaging it again. “On occasion, yes.”

Jesse sucks in a quiet breath. Something inside him shifts, a flicker of an emotion, minute, not even formed enough for a thought but with the seismic impact of an earthquake. He has never seen Hanzo flinch at anything, not even that time when Genji knocked him off his feet and the air right out of his lungs during one of their training sessions. Hanzo hit the deck so hard Jesse heard the thump from the other end of the training range, and ended up on his back like an overturned turtle, mouth gaping and nose flaring, trying to regain his breath. He didn’t bat an eyelid, not once, just stared at the ceiling until his brother stopped the simulation and lent him a hand to help him up.

“You know Angela can probably sort that out for you, right?” Jesse says.

“She has assured me she can,” Hanzo says without looking at him.

“You’ve spoken to her? What’s stopping you then?”

“I have failed to seek appropriate treatment for far longer than is advisable, and as a result my knee is no longer salvageable through reconstructive surgery or nanites therapy. Doctor Ziegler was very forthright with her diagnosis. She has given me something that lets me cope for the time being, but to repair all the damage, I will need to have a complete knee replacement and will be out of action for at least a month, if not longer. We simply cannot afford me taking medical leave given the limited number of agents we have.”

Jesse smiles at the image of Angela sternly lecturing Hanzo about the realms of injury prevention and basic self-care, and Hanzo scowling all the way through it while he listens to her.

“I also appear to take issue with the cybernetic enhancements she is kindly offering me,” Hanzo goes on, and Jesse is sure he can hear the ‘undeservedly’ that remains unspoken but is clearly written between the frown lines on Hanzo’s face.

“I’m sure your brother would be the last person to hold it against you if you went ahead and got your knee fixed, if that’s what’s bothering you,” Jesse says. “And believe me, those enhancements are well worth all the fuss Angela makes about them.”

“It is the sensible thing to do, I am aware.” Hanzo looks out at the sea again. “But one does not always control what one is afraid of.”

Well, this really is a day of unexpected revelations.

Hanzo turns his head and narrows his eyes at Jesse. “I did not know you had cybernetics yourself?”

“Just a few.” Jesse smiles and lifts his hand once more. He makes a fist before spreading his fingers out for Hanzo to see. “About ninety percent of this beauty is cybernetics, plus half of my left shoulder and my right hip are made of the stuff. Can’t beat a little medical magic, especially when you’ve got jobs like we do.”

Hanzo watches intently as Jesse rotates his wrist and flexes his fingers. His eyes flicker up to meet Jesse’s, but he lowers them again quickly and keeps them glued to the prosthetic.

“Can I touch it?” Hanzo asks.

Jesse tenses and slowly straightens up. “You…” He’s not sure he’s heard right. “You wanna touch my hand?” He feels like he could easily suffer whiplash from all the forwardness and honesty Hanzo throws at him. But as strange as Hanzo’s request is, it also sends a bolt of excitement through Jesse’s veins that makes him hope he has indeed heard right.

“Yes,” Hanzo says without hesitation, and this time when he looks up, he holds Jesse’s gaze.

“Uhm, yeah. Sure.” Jesse rubs the back of his neck with his good hand while he holds the prosthetic out towards Hanzo, feeling more self-conscious than he has in years. “But why?”

Hanzo pushes up and steps closer, then gracefully drops to his knees and sits back on his haunches.

Jesse swallows. Only Hanzo Shimada can fall to his knees in front of someone and still look like he’s the one in charge.

“I would like to know what it is like…” Hanzo trails off, his voice hoarse. He reaches for Jesse’s hand but pulls back again, as if he suddenly realizes how absurd this all is.

“You wanna know what it’s like to be in your brother’s shoes?” Jesse says softly and holds his hand out a little further. He meets Hanzo’s eyes and isn’t surprised by the storm of emotions he sees, ferocious and wild, and still so tightly guarded by the hard front Hanzo puts up. _Not so unaffected after all_ , he thinks to himself.

Hanzo clenches his jaw. His eyes flicker back and forth between Jesse’s. Neither of them moves until Hanzo’s dragon lets out a puff of air through his nostrils, breaking the silence. “Yes,” Hanzo simply says and reaches for Jesse’s hand again.

Jesse tries as best as he can to stay relaxed. Hanzo is uncannily gentle as he examines his hand, turning it this way and that way with much more care than Jesse would’ve ever expected. He gives the metal plate on Jesse’s forearm a light squeeze and runs his fingertips along the synthetic parts of his wrist and his fingers, and Jesse can’t hide the shiver that runs through him when Hanzo takes his hand between both of his own and runs his thumb over Jesse’s palm.

Hanzo’s head shoots up. “You can feel this?”

“Well… yeah.” Jesse’s mouth feels dry. He slowly extracts the prosthetic from Hanzo’s hold and wraps his good hand around it. “Lots of sensory shit in there.” He doesn’t want to spook Hanzo, but damn, this feels much more intimate than it has any right to. They’re so close he can smell what might be sun lotion on Hanzo’s skin. Or make out the different shades of brown in Hanzo’s eyes.

“My brother…?” Hanzo asks, again unable to finish his sentence. He doesn’t sit as upright as he usually would and seems at a loss as to what to do with his hands, folding and unfolding them in his lap, but he doesn’t pull away either.

Jesse studies him openly. There’s a faint scar on the back of Hanzo’s left hand that Jesse’s never noticed before, a thin, ragged line that emerges between the knuckles of his index and middle finger and disappears amongst the fangs of the dragon tattooed along his arm. It’s healed and faded, but still there. A sign that even Hanzo Shimada can get hurt. And still, he carries that vulnerability with the same stubbornness with which he carries everything else, regardless of how uncomfortable the situation makes him feel.

“Does your brother still have feeling in all his cybernetic limbs?” Jesse chuckles. “Hell yeah, he does. When he isn’t bouncing around like Speedy Gonzales, he gets cold real quick. You should see the hoodies he wears in the winter. He’s got a cooling system installed for when he overheats, but unfortunately no one’s come up with central heating for cyborgs yet.” He ignores the scandalized look Hanzo gives him. Hanzo asked, so he will have to hear it. “It’ll be different to how it all feels to me, and I don’t know the full extent of his enhancements, but there’s still enough of his old body left to make all the connections. But why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s not exactly shy about it.”

“Because he is my brother,” Hanzo says. “Even if I was not the one responsible for his situation, I would not think it appropriate to ask him if I could touch him just to sate my own curiosity. You may not have any siblings but imagine yourself and Commander Amari’s daughter under the same circumstances?”

Jesse barks a laugh. “So you’re asking me instead?”

A smirk grows on Hanzo’s face, and if that isn’t a sight to behold. He pushes back onto his feet and takes a step to the side before sitting down next to Jesse. “It is easier with you,” he says, squinting against the sun as he looks out towards the glistening sea. “Different.” He shadows his eyes and looks back at Jesse. “My apologies if I have made you uncomfortable. That was not my intention.”

“Nah.” Jesse waves him off with a grin. “Takes a lot more to make an idiot like me feel uncomfortable.” And if the slowly sinking sun is playing a trick on him by painting a blush onto Hanzo’s cheeks, well, then no one other than Jesse will ever know that he doesn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested in what inspired this scene, have a look at [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bjt7_CPjwAk/?utm_source=ig_share_sheet&igshid=11pk2qg4n61r8). :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things aren’t worth asking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is what happens when I think I just need to write a couple of paragraphs to get to the final chapter… an accidental extra chapter. And apparently I can’t write anything without adding in a little splash of angst or hurt. I hope you all don’t mind. :)

He should’ve known not to jinx it. Should’ve left those old ghosts alone.

It’s half past three at night when Jesse’s old comm switches itself on and pings with a message. It jolts him from his sleep, and he’s out of his bed in a flash, shoving socks and underwear out of the way to get to the false bottom of his bedside table drawer. It’s been years since he last heard the sound, and if it wasn’t for its sentimental value, he would’ve ditched the device a long time ago.

He swears under his breath when he finally gets his hands on it. When he walked away from Overwatch all those years ago, the comm was the only thing he kept that wasn’t strictly his own. Back then, he still had hope that someone would come after him, either to follow him or maybe even to ask him to come back. Neither happened, and when the UN got wind of his departure and put the first bounty on his head, he acquired a new comm and switched the old one off for good. He should’ve removed the damn battery cell, though, and he prays to the spirit of his Mama that he knows who’s behind this nightly invasion.

He opens the messaging app only to find the words ‘ _UN REGALO ESPECIAL_ ’ mockingly glare back at him from the first subject line.

“Oh, for Christ sake,” he growls and slumps back onto his mattress, the slight panic the rush of adrenalin has caused giving way to a mixture of relief and irritation. It’s far too early to deal with one of Sombra’s stupid games. His mood sours further when he opens the message and is greeted by an unceremonious ‘ _FELIZ CUMPLEANOS, PENDEJO!_ ’ followed by a set of coordinates.

Aside from fact that his birthday is not for another five days, the last time she sent him a message like this, it was to tell him where he could find Peacekeeper after he had lost the gun in the incident that also took his arm. What Sombra conveniently forgot to mention was that, when he eventually found the gun, there was still a dead body attached to it. Or that the local police would swiftly put the blame for the shootout which had led to said dead body on Jesse, after someone found one of his custom-made bullets wedged into the bumper of a hovercar parked nearby.

He has no desire to make the same mistake a second time. He notes down the coordinates and, after checking with Athena that there’s no breach to the watchpoint’s security system, removes the battery cell from the comm and pushes the device back into the compartment at the bottom of the drawer. He scowls at the socks and underwear strewn about on the floor but eventually leaves them where they are and climbs back into bed. They can wait until the morning, and so can whatever it is that Sombra wants him to check out.

Somehow, he falls back to sleep, but when he wakes in the morning, the frustration about Sombra’s meddling still clings to him like the remnants of a nightmare.

He tidies up the floor and allows himself a shower and breakfast before he goes to see the boss. Sombra might have sent the message to him, but there’s nothing stopping him from taking advantage of Overwatch’s technology to find out what he’s dealing with. Share the burden.

Winston promptly runs another security check when Jesse tells him where the coordinates came from, but again, it comes back negative. When they ask Athena to pull up a satellite image of the location, all it reveals is the single roof of a large barn surrounded by trees and pasture somewhere high up in the Swiss Alps. Jesse hasn’t got a clue what it all means. He has no recollection of ever having been anywhere near the place nor would he choose to go there unless he had to; however nice the view from the top promised to be, he’s just not built for climbing up mountains. Never was, never will be.

They scour Athena’s database for any reference of the location, and when that isn’t fruitful either, they call in some of the team for a second and third opinion.

“I think I know what this is,” Jack says after Winston has given them the rundown of how little they have found so far. “Athena, do you still have access to my old Overwatch account?”

Jesse’s hackles rise. He doesn’t like the sound of this, and it only substantiates his suspicion of the origin of Sombra’s source. He throws Jack a grim look, but the man is too focused on trying to recall his old passcode to notice.

It takes Jack and Athena half a day to access Jack’s old inbox, but when they do, Jesse isn’t surprised about what they find. The barn on the satellite pictures once belonged to no other than Gabriel Reyes. It’s part of a bunch of low-key buildings Gabe acquired after their Blackwatch base in Rome was blown up, only Jesse doesn’t think this one is as unassuming as it looks. Not if Gabriel Reyes is involved.

“You always need a solid backup plan,” Gabe used to preach to his troops, and Jesse got to hear it twice as often as the rest of them. “You never know when it all goes to rat shit.” Most of the time, Jesse simply endured the lectures without paying much attention. Not that he didn’t care, but ‘appreciate what you’ve got while you’ve got it’ was more his kind of philosophy back then. Just because he had a knack for strategic thinking and could put a mean plan together, didn’t mean he liked doing it. Neither did he really see the point of it. Blackwatch and Reyes were his safety net, the one place where he could be his own screwed-up self and still fit in, and for a long time that seemed to be much more important to him. It didn’t last, of course, as most things don’t, but he didn’t ever quite expect for Gabe to have meant his words so literally either.

After some deliberation, Winston decides to send Lena and Mei on an exploratory hiking mission to Switzerland while the rest of the team holes up in the main conference room and watches via video link. It doesn’t take the girls long to find the fortified door at the back of the barn. They try a few combinations on the security lock, but all attempts to crack Gabe’s code are futile until Winston reads out Jesse’s date of birth from his files, and finally the small display on the door flashes green. Jack rolls his eyes, but when the heavy locks click open, revealing the entrance to an underground bunker, even he perks up while next to him Lucio whistles.

“A military bunker,” Reinhardt states, matter-of-factly. “How apt. The Swiss built dozens of them during the Cold War.”

“Did Reaper plan to kit out a new army or something?” Hana asks. Her eyes are glued to the monitor at the front of the room while she unwraps a lollipop and pops it into her mouth.

Jesse watches silently from the back of the room. The video feed continues as Mei and Lena walk through a maze of corridors and chambers, automatic lights flickering on wherever they turn, shedding light on polished concrete floors and beige walls. Some of the rooms are filled up to the ceiling with cans of food and boxes of ration bars, others packed with weaponry crates and tech. Everything looks eerily sterile. The bunker is nowhere near the biggest cache he has seen in his time, but it’s definitely well stocked. He grinds his teeth. As much as he believes that a freebie never comes without a catch, he can't deny that a find like this will help them boost their resources, especially in times like this, when they’re still only a bunch of individuals with no backing but their own.

“Nice birthday present, cowboy,” Hana says around her lollipop. “Didn’t think that scary bastard could be so generous.”

Jesse huffs. “Nothing generous about it if we get ambushed as soon as we try to get that shit out.” He pushes off the wall and turns to leave. If this is a true gesture of goodwill, he has a hard time believing in its sincerity.

“Jesse.” It’s Jack who calls after him, and Jesse stops in the door to be met with a concerned look from the old commander. He can tell Jack knows what's going on in his head, but he’s in no mood for being grateful for something he never asked for in the first place.

He meets Jack’s eyes, then Winston’s. “Let me know when we’re leaving. I’ll be there.” And with that, he tips his hat and takes his leave.

 

* * *

 

Winston gives the go-ahead a few hours later. To get the job done as quickly as possible, they decide to run two shifts, and together with Zarya, Reinhardt, Jack and Hanzo, Jesse finds himself part of the first heavy-lifting squad. Winston obviously shares some of Jesse’s concerns, as he also sends Ana and Lucio for additional protection and medical cover. While Mei remains at the barn to set up a security system around the perimeter, Lena flies back to Gibraltar to pick them up, and before Jesse has much time to ponder, he’s already stepping off the Orca again and into the old bunker.

He doesn’t expect the impact it has on him. If he was feeling mildly irritated by the whole thing before, he’s soon pissed off good and proper. It’s one thing to try and make out the bunker’s interior and the treasures it holds on a screen in the conference room, but it’s quite another to actually see it, rifle through the mountains of equipment and pack it all up for transport.

It’s like stepping back in time. They did a few of these heists, back in Blackwatch days, usually to clear out illegal weapon depositories or drug warehouses. However, this isn’t just any kind of depository. He recognizes the red, black and white on the crates, the stickers on the sides of the ration boxes. The logo is missing, but it doesn’t take much imagination to know that all these goods were once destined for Blackwatch and its operation.

Knowing Gabe most likely appropriated most, if not all, of them while he was still in charge of Blackwatch only adds to the qualms Jesse has about Reaper’s motives, past and present. It fuels his anger and turns it into a persistent undercurrent of bitterness that settles in his gut and grates on him like road rash.

Reaper’s favoritism is old news, least of all to the old guard who knew Gabe when he was still mostly human, but Jesse doesn’t get it. The Gabriel Reyes he knew and respected, the one who taught him righteousness and turned him into a half-decent human being, wouldn’t have turned on his own organization like that, neither would he have ever entertained the idea of leaving a bunker full of weapons to the enemy. Jesse never used to think of it too much, mentally stashing memories of Gabe into the same box he buried memories of his Mama in, but rummaging through old Blackwatch property under more than questionable circumstances riles him up in a way he doesn’t rightly know how to deal with.

When Jack walks past him and presses a box of Peacekeeper’s old custom-made ammunition into his hands, his emotions finally get the better of him, and he has to sit down on the crate he was just about to lift so he doesn’t kick it to pieces.

“Happy birthday,” Morrison grunts, sounding as pissed off as Jesse feels.

“Fuck off,” Jesse growls after him. He stares at the box for a moment before peeling off the seal and lifting the lid. Inside, six rows of brass colored bullets stand neatly stacked against each other like perfect little soldiers.

“There is a lot more where that came from,” Zarya says around a couple of metal lockers she has picked up from somewhere, and Jesse has to bite his tongue not to snap at her, too. Hanzo throws him a curious look over the top of the crate he’s carrying but doesn’t say anything as he follows Zarya towards the exit, and Jesse is grateful that there’s at least one person who doesn’t feel the need to continually remind him how 'lucky' he is.

There has to be a catch. Jesse’s waiting for it, waiting for Reaper to appear, all smoke and guns, and ask for a favor in return. But nothing the like happens, and Jesse is stuck with an unfulfilled anticipation that makes him want to scream at someone.

He has no idea how long he sits there, with his box of bullets and his mind lost in the past. A noise startles him, and soon after, Zarya and Hanzo walk past him again to gather their next load.

He seals the box without looking at either of them before pushing himself up and making his way out to the Orca where he puts his new possession to one side. Not much use to anyone else anyway. Might as well hold on to it.

He ignores the pointed look Jack gives him and trudges back inside.

For the rest of the shift, he keeps his head low and his thoughts to himself. There’s enough of the bunker to keep everyone occupied anyway. They have barely made a dent by the time Lena calls them back to the Orca, which doesn’t bode well for Jesse wanting this done and over with as quickly as possible, preferably yesterday.

He’s the last one to board the ship, squeezing past their precious cargo, which now fills about every available space within the hull, to get to the row of seats on the other side of the cabin. Jack has left for the cockpit while Zarya and Reinhardt are getting comfortable at the table in the corner. Ana, Mei and Lucio are staying behind to hold the fort.

“Come join us.” Reinhardt points at the empty seat next to him. “Zarya and I were just talking about a round of poker.”

“Another time, my friend,” Jesse says, waving him off. He feels exhausted. Just the thought of having to hold up a conversation for the next hour it will take them to get back to Gibraltar is giving him a headache. All he wants to do right now is slump in the corner and hide under his hat. His heart sinks when he realizes that most of the other seats are either blocked up by their cargo or used as additional storage space, and Hanzo is strapping in on the only empty one.

Hanzo looks up and meets his gaze. His expression is unreadable, and Jesse half-expects a snarky remark. Instead, Hanzo turns towards the seat next to him, the one in the corner. He reaches for the box that occupies the seat and holds it up towards Jesse.

It’s Jesse’s ammo box, and if he wasn’t in such a dire mood, he might have been tempted to hug Hanzo.

He shuffles forward and takes the box. “You’re a lifesaver.” With a sigh, he plumps down next to Hanzo and stuffs the box into the small hold underneath the seat.

“Don’t mention it,” Hanzo says, eyes already trained on his comm as he flicks through it. He doesn’t seem up for conversation either, and Jesse pulls his hat over his eyes and cherishes the blessed silence that falls between them as Lena runs through her pre-flight checks and eventually gets them into the air.

He feels a little less wound up by the time they touch down in Gibraltar, so much so that he lets himself be talked into joining Hanzo and Reinhardt for dinner. Both are wise enough to steer their conversation as far away from the bunker as possible, or maybe they are just too tired to bring it up. None of them can muster enough enthusiasm to cook, so they settle for a round of turkey sandwiches and some beer. It’s not exactly what Angela would class as a nutritious meal but enough to fill the pesky hole in Jesse’s stomach.

They go their separate ways shortly after. Jesse methodically runs through his nighttime routine while his mind is drawn back to the events of the last few days. His body aches in a way that doesn’t feel entirely physical, but their supply and ammunition stores look a lot less empty than they did only a few hours ago, and for that it’s probably worth it. Who knows what else they may find. When he climbs into bed an hour later, he’s surprised to find he’s cleaned his gun, showered and shaved, and even prepared his clothes for the next day. It’s been a long time since he got lost in his own head that badly, and he quickly shuts his eyes and forces his mind through a whole loop of training runs until it eventually slows down and lets him sleep.

The next few days go by much the same. An hour’s flight in an empty ship, hours of lifting and packing and cramming it all into the Orca’s belly, an hour’s flight back. His mood is as sour as the days are long, and he gets into a row with Jack about nothing and snaps at Ana when she scolds him for skipping all his breaks. Reinhardt and Zarya wisely decide to give him his space, while Lucio only really asks him for anything when he’s unsure of how to catalogue whatever Jesse has just dragged to the Orca to be loaded.

The only one who doesn’t keep his distance is Hanzo. On the contrary, he seems determined to stay close, as if he’s vowed not to leave Jesse on his own. He sits down next him on the flights and is conveniently always around when Jesse needs a hand to shift something too heavy for one person alone. He doesn’t say much and it’s not like he follows Jesse around, more like he’s just there whenever Jesse looks up. Now and again, Hanzo looks up at the same time and meets his gaze, but he’s always quick to ask for Jesse’s help as if that was his intention all along.

Jesse wonders more than once if he’s the one migrating towards Hanzo rather than the other way around. Hanzo is stoic and diligent as he works alongside him, never too close, but never too far away either, and the silent companionship gives Jesse an anchor he definitely didn’t ask for but probably needs. It certainly makes the shifts a lot more bearable and gets him through them a hell of a lot faster.

They’re nearing the end of their third day inside the bunker when the ear-splitting wail of the alarm system eventually puts an end to the peace.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Jesse yelps. He’s deep inside the bunker, clearing out the last few boxes of auxiliary cable and spare parts in one of the utility rooms. It’s a grimy business and his hands look like he’s been sweeping a chimney rather than lifting cables, but no one else was too keen on doing it so he ended up volunteering.

With one blackened hand now on his gun and the other flat against his chest, he wills his thumping heart to slow down and tries to listen. It’s fruitless with the alarm blaring like a foghorn on steroids. His skin crawls. He knows something is coming, and he couldn’t have picked a worse place to come under attack, even if he’d tried to. Right in the heart of the bunker, surrounded by nothing but concrete walls and only one way out.

He spins at a movement behind him and finds Hanzo standing in the doorway, wielding a slick handgun instead of his bow. He looks ready to fight whoever is making a move on them, when, as sudden as it began, the alarm cuts off, and the emergency lights above the door start flashing.

“ _Reaper signature incoming_ ,” Athena’s voice comes through the comm, but Jesse can already smell him. He has Peacekeeper drawn before the misplaced air at the back of the room can even be considered real smoke. It keeps forming, though, spiraling up from the ground into a shadow first, then the fleeting shape of a ghost until it manifests into the cloaked form that is Reaper.

“One step closer and I’ll blow that ugly head of yours to hell,” Jesse snarls.

Red eyes glower back at him over the barrel of his gun. Reaper’s shotguns remain untouched as he folds his arms and stares down at Jesse. “Is that your way of saying thank you, ingrate?”

“Fuck you!”

“Well. Looks like the time off has done nothing to improve your manners.”

“At least I know which direction to point my gun.”

Reaper chuckles, the sound disturbingly metallic from behind the mask. His eyes flicker past Jesse towards the door. “Shimada,” he purrs and cocks his head. “I see you’ve followed your brother’s request to join Overwatch. Can’t say I’m surprised, although I didn’t think you’d get along with old McCree here.”

“What do you want?” Hanzo says dryly. It doesn’t sound like a question.

“Just checking in on my boy. Making sure he appreciates his present.”

“I’m not your boy,” Jesse hisses through his teeth. “And if you wanted a thank you, maybe you should’ve sent the coordinates straight to Winston instead of me.”

“Could’ve given it all to Talon, too.” Reaper sneers. “Yet, here we are.”

Jesse growls and pushes forward, presses Peacekeeper’s barrel against Reaper’s ivory forehead. “You need to learn how to pick a side, Reyes.”

Reaper doesn’t move, not even a twitch, but when he speaks again, his tone has changed to something much soberer. “There are no sides for people like me.”

Jesse snorts. “People like you?” He can hear shouts in the distance. About time the rest of the team got their asses into gear.

A moment passes. Jesse keeps his gun trained on Reaper’s face.

Slowly, as if not to spook him, Reaper reaches for his mask, and Jesse clenches his jaw and steels his expression. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Hanzo’s weapon, still there to back him up, so he lowers his own gun and takes a step back. He knows what’s coming but isn’t sure he’s prepared for it.

As Reaper removes his mask, a familiar face looks back at Jesse. It’s worse than he thought but, at the same time, oddly reassuring. It’s still Gabe, the same dark eyebrows, the same harsh cheekbones, the sneer so ingrained into his features it might as well be permanent. The old scars are there, if the smoldering lines that mark his face can even be called that, and those eyes can still pin Jesse to the spot regardless of their color.

At the same time, Gabe looks inhumanly ashen, his skin grey and taut over his bones. Hints of smoke escape from under his hood, and Jesse can hear every one of his labored breaths.

_More corpse than alive._

The thought assaults Jesse before his mental defenses have fully kicked in, and he can barely suppress the tremor that is threatening to take hold of him. Damn him if the room isn’t ten degrees colder than it was a few minutes ago. He swallows and pulls himself together, forcing his focus back on the familiar scowl he once thought he’d seen for the last time. It’s still Gabe.

“You wanna try again?” he says sharply. When Gabe raises an eyebrow at him and visibly straightens, Jesse knows he’s got him. “You think a little rot and smoke changes who you are? That once you’re down the road of destruction, there’s no turning back and you’re only as good as your own worst decision? That’s a whole lot of bullshit and you know it. Look at me. Or Hanzo right there. We might be a right bunch of messed up souls, but that still doesn’t stop us from fighting for the good guys. _You_ ”– he points at Gabe with his gun–“need to get over yourself and decide where you stand. Stop using me as your band-aid for whatever cacophony of remorse is haunting you.”

He takes a deep breath but doesn’t back away. Up close, he sees the flare of Gabe’s nostrils, the darkening of his eyes. There are heavy footsteps beating along the corridor not far from them, a jumble of voices that gets louder by the second. Jesse can hear Zarya and Ana, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Gabe. He wants to know what the man has to say for himself.

“Where is that coward!” Jack’s voice booms through the air.

Gabe flinches. Jesse has hardly time to blink before Reaper’s mask is replaced just as Jack bursts through the door. The thunder of Jack’s rifle cracks through the room, and Jesse ducks and throws his arms over his head as the shockwaves wash over him. Not far from him, Hanzo is doing much the same as black tendrils of smoke dance around them. Jesse thinks he can hear Jack roar Gabe’s name, but by the time the shot rings out and he lifts his head, the smoke is gone and so is Gabe.

Jack is still in the doorway, his weapon ready to shoot again, and Jesse has a hard time not to punch him.

“That’s enough.” He swats Jack’s rifle out of the way and stabs his finger hard into Jack’s chest. “You two really need to learn when to shoot and when to have a normal conversation. Two bulls in a china shop, that’s what you are. Too stubborn and proud to listen to anyone, and I’m not gonna be caught in the middle, not again.” He tilts his head towards the ceiling and shouts, “You hear me?” With his luck, Reaper is still close, somewhere.

If it wasn’t so damn frustrating, he would probably laugh at the way Jack glares back at him from behind the red glow of his visor, just like Gabe did from behind his mask. Too damn stubborn and proud indeed. Jesse has no idea why he’s even trying.

Resigned, he holsters Peacekeeper and pushes past Jack, making sure to give him a good shove on the way out, and runs straight into Ana and Zarya.

“Where– “ Zarya starts.

“Gone,” he says before she can finish. He ignores her frown and takes off down the corridor. This recycled shit he’s been breathing in for far too long is tasting staler by the minute, and he could really do with some fresh air and a smoke.

Ana jogs after him. He doesn’t look at her, and she doesn’t try to stop him but falls into stride at his side. “Are you okay, Habibi?”

“Don’t ‘Habibi’ me, not now. And no, I ain’t.” He taps his earpiece. He has no desire to hear her response. “Athena, get Winston on the line.”

“ _I’m here_.” Winston’s voice comes through the comm, and Jesse isn’t surprised. Winston could find a live-stream of the British Prime Minister napping in his garden if he wanted to.

“Permission to call it a day, boss?”

“ _Permission granted_ ,” Winston says without missing a beat, and Jesse can feel some of the tension slip off his shoulders. “Just make sure everyone is safe and bring back what you’ve got.”

“Got it, boss.” The sooner they leave this place, the better.

“Jesse.” Ana grabs his arm and stops him. “What did he want?”

“Hell if I know, Ana,” he blurts out. When she narrows her eyes at him, he sighs and takes off his hat, scratches his scalp where it’s suddenly itching for no apparent reason. He can still feel the anger bubbling under his skin, but she’s not the one he’s angry with. “I don’t know,” he says again and glances back down the corridor where Zarya is talking quietly to Hanzo outside the utility room. Jack is nowhere to be seen. “See my lovely face? Butter up his ego? You guys didn’t give us much time to get to the point.”

“He’s not our friend anymore, Jesse,” Ana says. He’s not sure who she’s trying to convince.

“You sure about that? Because he sure as hell thinks he’s done us a mighty favor with this.” He waves at the now mostly empty rooms around them.

“He has. But that doesn’t mean we can trust him.”

Jesse snorts a bitter laugh. “I don’t think he quite got that message.” He sets off again, and this time, he doesn’t look back. Enough is enough.

 

* * *

 

He lifts the bottle to his lips but miscalculates. The angle is all wrong, and half the whiskey burns down places it has no business to be while the rest spills back out of his mouth as he coughs and sputters. It’s in his beard and on all over his hand, and damn, that bottle is a slippery thing. He tries to grab it with his prosthetic, but the bottle has other ideas. Jesse can do nothing but lean over the railing he hooked his arms over and watch it disappear from view before it smashes on the rocks below him.

“Well, shit.”

The sun has barely dipped behind the horizon, and he’s drunk as a skunk. Not that he minds. Getting drunk was his plan all along. Or at least from the moment he stepped off that damn dropship. Orca. He squints at the sea but can’t make out anything but the dark grey surface. He’s seen Orcas here before, the real ones, the whales. A tad late and cold for them now, maybe. Or maybe it’s just the light and the fact that his eyelids feel rather heavy.

His head tips dangerously without his input, and he starts up, startled, tightening his grip around the railing. He sways with the evening breeze, and even though there’s a fierce heat to his cheeks, he feels contented.

Behind him, the door opens.

“Brother, I found him.”

Jesse smiles. He likes the sound of Hanzo’s voice. Like rough gravel on a desert road. He likes more than just his voice, but that’s a thought for a day when his braincells aren’t soaked in alcohol. He came here to drown most of them into oblivion anyway, shut them off, even if just for one night. And considering how the horizon suddenly tilts and the railing slides out from underneath his arms, he isn’t doing too bad on that front.

There’s a commotion behind him, and then he hits something that is hard and yet soft at the same time.

“Hmpf.” Hanzo catches him around his shoulders before he can hit the ground. “Sit up, McCree. I have done my share of heavy lifting for the week, I am not going to carry you.”

“Charmin’ as ever.” Jesse grins at him. He’s practically fallen into Hanzo’s lap, and from his skewed angle, he has a perfect view of Hanzo’s eyes, of the dark speckles that are dotted around his irises and are only noticeable when he’s as close as this. Which doesn’t happen very often. Hasn’t happened since the day on the beach. Unfortunately. He much prefers Hanzo’s eyes to Reaper’s red stare. Asshole. Reaper, not Hanzo.

“If you are trying to throw yourself off the cliff, you should have gone up to the South point.” Genji appears out of nowhere, and Jesse jumps, but the cyborg just yanks at his arm and straightens him up. “A much longer drop and a sure chance that either the rocks or the waves will kill you on arrival.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” Jesse tries to sound indignant, but the words feel like dough on his tongue. He accusingly looks back at Hanzo, who’s busy maneuvering himself under Jesse’s arm before he reaches around his waist. “You need t’ put some bells on ‘im, he’s too fuckin’ quiet.”

“And you are loud, fool,” Hanzo counters and hauls him up and onto his feet. Genji grabs Jesse’s other arm and slings it over his shoulder, and, lo and behold, the world just spins a little less. Sweet.

“Rather a lou’ fool than a smokin’ ghos’,” Jesse drawls and leans a little heavier on Hanzo. He can’t remember where he left his hat, but Hanzo’s arm is warm against his back, so he’s happy enough without it. “I like bein’ alive.”

“Really?” Genji snorts. “You could have fooled me there.” Some mechanical part of his cybernetic shoulder pinches Jesse’s armpit.

“Ow.”

“Stop complaining,” Hanzo says, but he sounds less surly than he usually does. “And mind your head.”

“A’right, boss.” Jesse grins and dutifully ducks his head and lets the two brothers steer him through the door and into the stairwell that leads from the small lookout back down into the base. Hanzo glares at him from far closer than should be legally allowed.

_You have nice eyes, darlin’_ , Jesse wants to say, because those eyes are truly something else. Instead, he grins with a little more tooth but holds his tongue. Not the time, not the place. Perhaps not appropriate either.

Genji snickers and then grunts as he misjudges a step under Jesse’s weight and has to steady himself before they’re able to continue their descent down the stairs. “Man, why couldn’t you just get drunk in the kitchen?”

Hanzo tightens his hold on Jesse, and Jesse is reminded that he is still plastered from armpit to hip against the man’s side, and it’s warm, and entirely the wrong time to think of Hanzo as anything other than Genji’s brother. Genji, who’s synthetic shoulder is still digging into Jesse’s other side.

“Wha’s the fun in that,” he says. He’s not sure anyone has heard him. His legs feel like useless lumps, and someone’s dimmed the lights. Or maybe he just needs to rest his eyes for a little while. Or all his old bones. Another year older soon, as that smoky son-of-a-bitch Reyes so kindly reminded him. Too old for all this shit. Too old…

The lights come back on and somehow Jesse is lying on his bed. He groans at the biting brightness and throws his arm over his eyes. His bed rolls like a boat at sea and something is tugging at his feet.

“McCree, stop kicking.” Ah, Hanzo again.

“Sto’ pullin’ m’ leg then.”

“I am trying to take your boots off so that you don’t have to sleep in them.”

Hanzo might be on to something there. Jesse stops resisting, or at least he thinks he does, but who can tell.

“He must have been truly upset with Reyes if he ends up like this,” he hears Genji say, somewhere in the distance.

“He’s dead t’ me,” Jesse mumbles, because that’s what it comes down to. Reyes is dead.

Hanzo grumbles something unintelligible. There is a rush of cool air to Jesse’s feet followed by someone heaving his legs up onto the bed. He wants to complain, because who on Earth likes being manhandled when they haven’t got their wits together, but the blanket is pulled over him before he gets his words out. And then it’s nice and warm, and he’s drifting again, and Hanzo is there, looking down at him.

“He certainly did not grace him with those ridiculous pet names he likes to use with the rest of us,” Hanzo says, and if that isn’t a smirk on his lips. It’s gone too soon, and he sounds far away, but that’s okay. Jesse still saw it.

_Not everyone deserves them, darlin’_ , he wants to say, but his eyelids are weighing down on his eyes once more, and it’s still nice and warm, and he can’t find the energy to string even a half-coherent sentence together. He’ll tell him in the morning when he’s sober.

And if anyone even thinks about getting him another present for his birthday, he’s gonna freaking shoot them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of Truth or Dare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is where I had initially planned to finish. But then it grew again, or rather, still felt a little unfinished, so there will be another short chapter at the end to wrap it all up. It’s almost done as well, so hopefully it won’t take as long to update as it took me to get this one out (oops, sorry about that 😏). I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope you enjoy.

Jesse’s birthday comes with a hangover that rivals the concussion he brought back from Cuba. He grinds his teeth. Rolls towards the wall and pulls his pillow over his head. His mind is foggy and slow but still treacherous enough to make him question his life choices. Putting a rug over the window to keep the early morning sun at bay would’ve been a good choice. Minor, but good. Getting drunk like he used to when the world was a much darker place definitely wasn’t.

He throws his arm over the pillow to black out the last bit of light. For a few hopeful minutes, he dozes, the darkness pulling him back in and under. But just as he thinks he might fall back to sleep, he becomes aware of the weight of his prosthetic, then the staleness of his breath. It’s too hot. The sheets stick to his skin and his hair curls against his neck, irritating and damp. In about 1.5 seconds, he goes from hazy slumber to grossly uncomfortable, and it’s enough to make him move. With a groan, he tosses the pillow aside and drags himself out of bed.

The dull ache behind his eyes thumps through his head like an impact hammer. Like the miserable fool he is, he hunkers down in the shower, hisses and gasps for air as he turns the water from scalding hot to freezing cold. He stops cursing after a while, too exhausted to find the energy for even the simplest of swear words, but keeps up the torturous procedure.

By the time he leaves his quarters to see Angela for some much-needed painkillers, he feels a little more functional and human again. The watchpoint is strangely quiet. The corridors are empty, and while Angela is in her lab, and gives him the obligatory talk about the frequency of his recent medbay visits, no one else is around. The only other soul he encounters is Hana, who is so engrossed in her livestream play-through she hardly takes notice when he enters the kitchen.

“Athena, where is everyone?” he asks. “Didn’t think we had any missions coming up?” He opens the fridge and glares at the jumbo-sized pack of bacon sitting on the top shelf. He’s craving greasy food, but the prospect of having to cook it first puts a real dent in his motivation.

“Winston gave the team a day off,” Athena replies. “He is in his office. Agent Morrison is in the conference room. Most of the agents have decided to take their leave for some shopping and other errands.”

Jesse frowns at the empty kitchen table. He isn’t sure if he should be grateful for the peace or suspicious of the fact that everyone suddenly seems to have off-site errands to run.

He decides to go with the former and make the most of having free rein on the shooting range. The pain killers might help with his headaches, but they’re no fix-it-all. Gabe’s face still haunts him whenever he doesn’t pay too much attention to what he’s doing, and shooting the hell out of the training targets is by far the preferred option to nursing his resentment in the confines of his quarters. More mindless distraction, less wandering thoughts. He’ll get an earful from Torbjörn for the three bots he destroys, but purely for the satisfaction of blowing up something designed to endure the onslaught of Hana’s fusion cannon with nothing but a few well-aimed bullets, the telling-off will be well worth it.

Neither Athena nor anyone else shows up to tell him to stop.

“You sure no one else wanted to use the range?” Jesse asks when he eventually leaves, the smell of sweat and gun propellant clinging to his clothes. “Hard to believe. Where’s Ana? Or Hanzo?”

“Unfortunately, I have no insight in anyone’s personal motives for giving you space,” Athena says.

Jesse huffs and shakes his head. “You aren’t subtle, you know that?”

“My job is to act with discretion, not subtlety, Agent McCree. Today that included advising agents to take the day off and spend it in whichever way they wish. We all deserve a break now and again, don’t you agree?”

“And, just by chance, I was the only person who wanted to shoot shit?” Jesse lets himself into his quarters and shuts the door behind him. He listlessly drops his holster onto the armchair by the window.

“Would you have preferred company?” Athena asks far too innocently.

“No.” Jesse isn’t sure what irks him about the whole situation. Considering how much everyone’s attention wore him out over the last few days, he can’t quite work out why he feels disappointed that no one has checked in on him. Not even Fareeha. Or Hanzo.

Jesse pauses. Hanzo was there last night, that much he remembers. Dragged him back to his room with Genji, somehow must have talked him out of his boots, because he sure as hell didn’t have them on when he woke up. He can’t remember what they talked about, but it couldn’t have been too serious. Jesse got flirty, that’s for sure. He’s not immune to the effect of alcohol, knows his mouth runs away with him sometimes. Hell, on the few occasions Hanzo decides to let his guard down, Jesse revels in their banter. He wouldn’t have minded spending the day with Hanzo, maybe even sharing another drink or two.

“Ah, never mind,” he says and pulls his shirt over his head on the way to the bathroom. One year older. It’s no big deal.

He hasn’t really celebrated his birthday for years anyway. Certainly not since he left Switzerland, when dodging that ever-increasing bounty was far more important than fussing over the fact that some years ago, he was born. Days quickly turned into weeks and months without paying much attention to the actual date or whether it was Tuesday or Friday. He might have noticed the days getting longer in the spring, or the first leaves falling off the trees in the fall, but dates only became relevant if there was a deadline to meet or a target to take down before they could leave the country. It wasn’t difficult to throw a glance at the calendar hung up on the wall in a shabby laundry shop somewhere outside Vegas just to realize he had missed his birthday by about three weeks.

Turning on the shower once more, Jesse steps under the spray before the water even has a chance to warm up. He sometimes thinks it was easier back then. No rest for the wicked.

 

* * *

 

“You having fun?”

“Shut up.” Jesse rolls his eyes at Fareeha and takes another swig from his beer. “A couple of burgers my ass.”

“These are better than burgers,” Reinhardt says as he slides two plates with steaming hot currywurst onto the table in front of them. He pats Jesse’s shoulder with a broad grin. “On the house.”

“I’m sure I’ve paid for half of that with my own sweat and blood,” Jesse shoots back, but Reinhardt is already on his way back to his grill in the corner of the kitchen where Angela is waiting for him. They fall into easy conversation, which Jesse wouldn’t understand even if he could hear over Lucio’s music and the noise that comes with the hype of a party. German was never his strong point.

“I’ll trade you,” Hana calls from where she’s sitting cross-legged on one of the sofas. Lucio sits opposite her, trying hard not to laugh when she leans in and threads a cocktail stick with a green dragonfly at the end into his hair. God knows where she found the face paint, but the intricate dragonfly wings she has spent the last half hour painting onto Lucio’s face are just another demonstration of her endless list of talents. Going by how willingly he agreed to her challenge, Lucio probably knew that she was going to turn it into a piece of art.

“No can do, darlin’,” Jesse says and winks at her. He’s learned not to underestimate her, regardless of her age. He makes a show of forking a piece of sausage into his mouth and points his fork at the brussels sprouts sitting forlornly on a plate at the end of the table. “Should’ve chosen truth. You need to eat up.”

Hana glares at him. “Should have known better than to ask _you_ to pick a game.” Beside her, Lucio reaches for his unconventional headgear, but she is quick to swat his hand away. The unfinished plate of raw vegetables instantly forgotten, she picks up her phone and snaps a picture of her handywork. “Don’t mess with it. The fans will love it.”

“I’ll need a new drink.” Lucio holds up his glass, frowning at the concoction of what was a fruity cocktail thirty minutes ago. Any ice in there has long since melted, and what is left looks more like watered-down spinach than anything drinkable. He smirks and looks back up at Hana. “And a straw, please. I don’t want to mess up the paint.”

“All right, all right.” Hana grabs the glass. She shoves him as she heaves herself off the couch, but the smile on her face betrays her. “Can’t have you going thirsty during the livestream, can we?”

Jesse ducks away when she tries to flick him on the back of his head as she walks past. He shakes his head, but he’s smiling too. Despite himself, he _is_ having fun. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud in Fareeha’s presence.

It’s been a week since his birthday. Even though no one has fessed up so far, he’s damn sure that’s what this little get-together is meant to be; a belated birthday party. Or an attempt to bully him out of his foul mood.

He knew something was up from the moment Fareeha showed up at is doorstep earlier, one of her mother’s old revolvers in one hand and a net of empty tin cans in the other. With the excuse that he needed to get out more, which, admittedly, he did, going by the worn-out sweatpants he’s spent far too much time wearing lately, she made him put on a proper pair of jeans and dragged him down to the bay.

He grumbled at first, and purposely missed half his shots just to annoy her. But then she reminded him how he secretly used to teach her to do trick shots when she was barely old enough to hold a gun, never mind coordinated enough to point it at the cans and not him, and just that little snippet of a past he’s so often prone to forget pulled him out of his funk.

Before he knew it, they were battling it out with tricks he hadn’t tried in years while comparing notes on their trip down memory lane. They laughed long and hard at how Jesse had always thought he was stealthy when they sneaked out into the woods at the back of the watchpoint at Grand Mesa until Ana took him to one side one day and told him she had an eye on him. Not the thing one wants to hear from one of the world’s most infamous snipers. It scared the shit out of him for about three seconds before he realized that she hadn’t actually told him to stop.

To this day, he’s convinced teaching Fareeha was the first time in his life he did something without any kind of personal agenda. It didn’t buy him extra dinners, neither did it earn him much respect from the other Blackwatch recruits he was sharing his quarters and latrine duty with. He just wanted to do right by that sassy little teenager who kept bugging him about his guns. Make sure she could hit a target without over-thinking the technicalities of aiming, make sure she could reload quicker than her opponents and knew to find cover if she couldn’t. And in exchange for teaching her anything he knew about pistols and revolvers, she taught him what it was like to have a real friend.

He’s made a few more friends over the years. Jesse chuckles. Funny how a whole bunch of them were all already in the kitchen when he and Fareeha returned from the bay. He had smelled the trap even before she coaxed him through the doors. And still, here he is, enjoying some good grub and playing party games against his better judgment.

It’s not the worst company, though, by all means. At the top of the table, Ana sits with Zarya and Jack, the two women laughing at something Angela says as she joins them with her own plate stacked to the brim with Reinhardt’s goods from the grill. Jack seems focused on whatever he’s looking at on his tablet, but from the way he doesn’t blink and tilts his head just slightly to the right, Jesse can tell he’s listening more than he’s reading.

Hana, Mei and Lucio are lounging on the sofas in the rec area, while Lena and Winston occupy the bean bags on the floor next to them. Genji and Hanzo have settled at the other end of the table, and Jesse can’t say he’s ever seen the brothers so relaxed in each other’s company. They sit close, shoulders touching, and when their attention isn’t drawn to the rest of the group by everyone’s antics, they talk in low voices, both with smiles on their faces.

Hanzo looks at peace, and that’s truly a sight to behold. Jesse makes sure he isn’t caught staring but can’t quite stop himself from throwing an occasional glance Hanzo’s way. He knows the man is attractive, he’s got eyes. But in that plain white t-shirt that contrasts the colors of his tattoo and hugs his chest just right, and with that barbell decorating the bridge of his nose and his undercut freshly trimmed, Hanzo looks outright beautiful. Too beautiful to not look at from time to time.

Jesse makes a mental note to catch up with Hanzo once all the food has been served and they’re finished playing games. Maybe he can even convince Hanzo to join him for a smoke on the balcony. Just the two of them, so they can talk without an audience.

“Fareeha,” Lucio says from the sofa as he takes the fresh drink Hana hands him.

Fareeha swallows her last bite of food and grins as if she knew this was coming. She doesn’t even look up from her plate when she says, “Truth.”

“You chicken,” Jesse mumbles at her. “Afraid he’d make you eat raw vegetables as well?”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” she whispers back. “That or seeing Tjorbörn wiggle his six toes.”

Jesse hums around another piece of sausage. He has no idea where Tjorbörn is tonight, but it’s probably a good thing he isn’t here. No one has quite such a knack for derailing a party game, be it with a demonstration of his body parts or one of his incredulous stories.

“Have you ever had a threesome, and if yes, who with?” Lucio says, just as Jesse thinks they may keep this a civil affair for once. So much for that.

“That’s two questions,” Fareeha says.

Jesse coughs when his sausage nearly goes down the wrong pipe. Only she could be concerned about the number of questions rather than the content.

“Well, if you’re going to answer _that_ with your dear mother in the room, you might as well answer both,” Ana calls across the table.

Jesse laughs when Fareeha cringes, realizing the hole she has dug herself into.

“No worries,” Lucio says. “I’ll make it one. Who with?”

Fareeha hides her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I walked right into that.”

“You sure did.” Jesse chuckles and bumps his shoulder against hers.

She lets out a sigh and lifts her head again to look at Lucio, who’s patiently waiting for his answer with a mischievous look on his face. “I will tell you the name of one of them, because I don’t think anyone here knows them. But I won’t tell the other. Not my place if they’re not here, and I don’t care if that spurs on the gossip mill. We’re all sensible adults who can respect some level of privacy.”

“Not me,” Hana chirps up. “I don’t think I’ve reached that sensible adult stage yet, and I’m not planning on getting there anytime soon.”

“Okay,” Lucio agrees. “Stop stalling though. We want a name.”

“Baptiste,” Fareeha says, short and sharp, leaving no doubt that this is the only time she will tell them.

“Baptiste?” Lucio’s eyes go wide. “Jean-Baptiste Augustin?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Fareeha says a little too nonchalant for Jesse to believe that she’s telling the truth. Lucio doesn’t seem convinced either, but his shoulders sag with disappointment regardless, and Fareeha uses the opening to guide the attention elsewhere. “Now. Jesse.”

“Oh yes.” Hana claps her hands. “You must have some juicy truths that are just waiting to be told.”

“Well, let’s go dare then,” Jesse drawls. He’s not sure what Hana is expecting, but Fareeha knows far too much about him, and she’s not going to make him recite stories that are better left in the past.

One look at Fareeha, though, and he realizes she knew which way he’d go. She wipes her hands on her napkin and pushes off her chair. “Make a trade with me.” She holds one hand out towards him. “Your gun for a gift.”

Jesse narrows his eyes, protectively placing his hand over the gun at his hip. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“Who’s the chicken now?” She nods towards Peacekeeper. “Come on, Jess. Hand her over.”

Oh, how he hates this lot sometimes. He grunts but shifts to pull his revolver out of the holster. Before he can think twice about pushing it back in, Fareeha snatches it and takes a step away from him. To his surprise, she then puts it down onto the table, just out of his reach.

“We’re good, Lena,” she says, and in a flash, Lena disappears from her spot on the bean bags.

“Good for what?” Jesse asks, but as the words leave his mouth, his brain makes the connection. They’ve planned this. He doesn’t jump when Lena reappears right next to him.

“Happy late Birthday, ya old git.” She gives him a tight hug and pushes a small crate the size of a shoebox and a bottle of his favorite whiskey into his hands.

“You didn’t have to give me no present.”

“We wanted to,” Fareeha says. “Go on, open it.”

Jesse can feel everyone’s eyes on him. His cheeks are suddenly burning. He sets the whiskey down on the table and peels off the sealing tape from the crate’s lid. “And for that you had to take my gun off me?”

“You didn’t take too well to the last present someone tried to give you, Habibi,” Ana says. “We all value our lives, despite what we do for a living.”

“I wouldn’t shoot my friends, though, would I?” He knows she’s only teasing but still throws her an accusing look.

“You shot me that one time,” Genji helpfully provides.

Hanzo’s head snaps up. “You did what?”

Jesse quickly raises a hand to placate him. “That was only for damage control. He was being a right dumbass trying to catch a guy that really didn’t need catching.” This is not going the way he thought it would, especially since Hanzo is now staring daggers at him. “I did no harm, don’t worry. He’s made of titanium, the bullet bounced right off him.”

“You’re not making it any better,” Fareeha says through her teeth.

“I’m well aware,” he murmurs back. He puts on the most charming smile he can master when Hanzo’s eyes narrow even further.

Genji places a calming hand on his brother’s arm and says something in Japanese. Jesse might not understand what’s being said, but he doesn’t miss the almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Hanzo’s mouth. The stern look remains, but Jesse isn’t fooled. Whatever Genji has told Hanzo, it’s enough to quench the rising heat before any emotional kindling has a chance to catch fire. For that Jesse is more than willing to be the object of amusement.

Hanzo lifts his chin. “Maybe you should open your present before someone else shoots you out of pure frustration.”

Jesse snorts a laugh. “Well, ain’t we all one big, loving family.” Hanzo clearly knows how to get one over him, and Jesse can’t say he minds. And he has no doubt that he’s still in for a grilling about the friendly fire incident when the time comes, but he can’t say he minds that either.

Reassured, he turns is attention back to the crate. He lifts the lid and takes a peek inside to find a small case, just a little bigger than his hand, bound in tan leather. Buffalo, if he was to take a guess. It’s smooth under his fingertips when he carefully extracts the case from the crate.

His name is engraved into the leather in swirly, dark letters. A smile grows on his face when he flips open the small but elaborate brass latch at the front of the case and is hit with the sweet whiff of tobacco. Four exquisite cigars with the distinctive black and yellow band of the hundred-year-old Cuban tobacco company Cohiba neatly sit in the base of the humidor while two small leather pockets in the lid hold a cutter and a dropper. With the company barely surviving the Omnic Crisis, it’s been years since he’s seen one of these cigars and even longer that he’s had the pleasure of actually smoking one.

He traces the lines that spell his name. “That’s a real nice gift, y’all.” He looks up when Fareeha places Peacekeeper on the table next to the empty crate. “Where did you find them?”

“Mombasa,” Fareeha says as if that’s the most obvious place to buy rare tobacco. His confusion must show, as she smirks and affectionately pats his cheek. “I was there on a job for the Kenyan government last year. One of the officials was married to a Cuban tobacco merchant. Don’t worry, no one was harmed or plundered for this.” She slumps back onto her seat. “It’s your turn, by the way.”

“We’re still playing?” Jesse has almost forgotten about the game.

“We are.” Fareeha grins. “Unless you want to miss out on your chance to make one of us squirm. Just don’t pick me.”

“Or me,” Hana echoes.

Jesse sets the humidor back down on the table and reaches for his beer. He can’t say that he hasn’t been looking forward to his turn. “Hanzo,” he says before he can change his mind.

Hanzo looks up, as if he’s not quite sure why he’s being called by name. But then he seems to remember what’s going on and squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. “Truth.”

“Your dragons’ names.”

Hana groans. “Seriously? You’re wasting your question on that? Everyone knows they’re called Udon and Soba.”

Hanzo’s eyes glint. “Udon and Soba,” he repeats without missing a beat.

“Oh, bullshit.” Jesse fixes his gaze on Hanzo. “They ain’t called that, and neither is Genji’s dragon called Ramen. Does your fair lady know she’s being referred to as a noodle?”

“Careful, McCree,” Genji warns. “I gave them those names.”

Jesse laughs. “You would.”

“Noodles are an integral part of our traditional Japanese cuisine,” Hanzo says, and Jesse can’t stop smiling at the seriousness with which Hanzo speaks. “They have kept our ancestors alive for centuries, and I can assure you that Soba does not mind being referred to as a noodle.”

“Hold on, McCree.” Hana all but jumps off the sofa. “She? You sound like you’ve met her.”

“I have, but that’s beside the point.” Jesse ignores her bewildered look and pins his eyes on Hanzo again. “The game is Truth or Dare, and if Hanzo isn’t willing to tell us the honest truth, I’m afraid he’ll have to go dare.”

“You sure that’s in the rules.” Fareeha chuckles.

“Excuse me.” Jesse looks at her with a little more exasperation than truly necessary. “You guys asked me to pick a game. My game, my rules.”

“But you can’t just make up the rules as you go along,” Genji interjects.

“Who says I can’t?” Jesse says at exactly the same time as Hanzo says, “Okay.”

“See.” Jesse waves towards Hanzo. “Hanzo’s fine with my rules.”

Genji grimaces and turns towards his brother. “You might regret agreeing to this.”

“Hey now,” Jesse protests. “You all make me sound like a real horrible person. And just because I made Reinhardt run around the headquarters naked once, doesn’t mean I’ll do the same to Hanzo.”

“They all enjoyed the show,” Reinhardt calls from where he’s still turning a few burgers on the grill. “They just don’t want to admit it.”

“No striptease,” Jack grunts, and Jesse snorts. Although it’s not what he’s thinking of, it isn’t a bad idea either.

“Speak your request,” Hanzo says, eyes steeled on Jesse, and if that isn’t the challenge Jesse has been waiting for. He knows that look, remembers it well from their first nightly meeting in this very room all those months ago.

“Well, darlin’,” Jesse purrs. This could either go amazingly well or disastrously wrong. “Why don’t you come over here and give me a kiss.”

Genji almost spits out his sake while Jack barks a dry laugh.

“Oh man.” Hana throws her hands in the air and flops back onto the sofa. “You really know how to throw away your chances.”

“Don’t laugh at me, old man,” Jesse says, pointing a finger at Jack. “You ain’t even playing. And like the saying goes, ‘good things come to those who are brave’.”

“Incorrigible.” Jack huffs and looks up. “But I admire your _bravery_.”

The retort sits ready on Jesse’s tongue when a chair scrapes over the floor and cuts him off. Suddenly, the room is stunned into silence.

Hanzo downs the rest of his sake and stands. With an unreadable look on his face, he walks around the table. He nudges Hana’s legs to let him through where she’s blocking the way. She drops them without complaint, mouth hanging open, and Jesse can’t help but feel smug about rendering her speechless for once. However, his own throat goes dry when his eyes meet Hanzo’s.

Hanzo smirks, and Jesse swallows hard. It’s game on. He straightens and licks his lips, ready for it. He has all about two seconds before Hanzo bumps a knee against his and oh–

Jesse’s mind goes blank as Hanzo climbs onto his lap. There are strong thighs at either side of his hips and deft fingers burying into his hair, and then Jesse is being kissed, unashamed and thoroughly. And with decisively more intent than he’s prepared for. For a moment he thinks he’s tipping backward, and he reaches for whatever he can find to hold his balance. He realizes too late that it ends up being Hanzo’s ass, but before he can pull back, Hanzo tightens his grip on Jesse’s hair and pushes forward for more purchase. It’s all the encouragement Jesse needs. He’s been counting on the fact that Hanzo doesn’t like doing things half-asses, and hell, he isn’t disappointed.

He feels the shift, the smallest of gasps escaping from Hanzo’s lips, the hitch in his breath as it escapes through his nose. Jesse tastes the sake on Hanzo’s tongue just as it disappears, notices how his lips feel much hotter against his own. Time slows as the air around them changes. Shivers brush over the back of his neck and his arms where he rolled up his sleeves. He wraps his arms around Hanzo’s middle and pulls him closer, revels in the flex of Hanzo’s back underneath his hands, the heat between their chests. Hanzo follows, much gentler but just as fearless, as he comes in for another kiss and more, and Jesse knows they’re no longer playing.

Jack clears his throat.

Hanzo and Jesse freeze, but neither of them pulls away. Jesse’s too blissed out to let Jack ruin the moment, and Hanzo doesn’t seem to be inclined to be intimidated out of it either. Instead, they part slowly. When Jesse opens his eyes, Hanzo’s are still closed. Mesmerized, he watches Hanzo suck his bottom lip between his teeth, and Jesse is almost tempted to dive right back in, damn their circumstances. He misses his chance, though, and when Hanzo opens his eyes, the smirk is back on his face, as if kissing Jesse senseless was his plan all along.

“Get a room,” Jack growls, and now Hanzo outright grins at Jesse.

“Maybe later,” he says as he climbs off Jesse’s lap. He saunters back to his seat with a swagger that makes Jesse run his thumb over his bottom lip and appreciate the excellent view he gets of Hanzo’s backside. If there ever was a winner to this game, Hanzo would’ve certainly claimed that top spot. He easily has in Jesse’s book. And he’s definitely made an unexpected but lasting impression on the rest of the team, given how shell-shocked everyone around them still looks.

“Well, you learn something new every day.” Ana finally breaks the silence, getting up to collect another bottle of wine from the fridge. “Anyone else wants a refill?”

A few hands go up while Lena, who’s back at Winston’s side, provides a cheery “Yes, please.” The gorilla sits next to her, studiously cleaning his glasses with a small piece of cloth. Angela and Zarya are quick to return to their conversation. Hana outright stares at Hanzo from across the room. The man himself is immediately bombarded with a tirade in Japanese from his brother, to which he only shrugs and smiles before filling them both another cup of sake.

With everyone’s attention temporarily diverted, Jesse makes no effort to hide the stupid smile that is still plastered across his face. He shifts on his seat and adjusts himself in his jeans.

Next to him, Fareeha vibrates with silent laughter. “I’d say you could’ve shot yourself in the foot there.” She leans in and nods in Hanzo’s direction. “But I don’t think you have.”

From the other side of the table, Hanzo meets Jesse’s eyes. The smile is still there, be it a little more subdued. For the briefest of moment, it broadens before Hanzo turns to his brother again, but it’s enough for Jesse to know that he’s not the only one who enjoyed himself tonight.

Jesse chuckles. “Worth the shot.” He reaches for the humidor still sitting in front of him and takes out one of the cigars, holding it under his nose to inhale the delicious scent of the tobacco. “You don’t get what you don’t ask for.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse learns a thing or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the final chapter is done! Gosh, I had so much fun writing this, and a massive thank you to everyone who came along to read, leave kudos and comments, etc. You’ve all made me a very happy cat. I hope you all enjoy this last little installment as well. 😊

It’s past midnight by the time the party eventually peters out. Mei is the first to take her leave. Hanzo and Genji follow shortly after. There’s a moment of regret when Jesse notices the brothers get up, of having missed his chance to strike up another conversation with Hanzo, maybe even take if further than that. But then, after having bid his goodnights to the rest of the team, Hanzo meets his eye with a small bow of his head, and the feeling dissipates into thin air. Hanzo’s expression is nothing but open and confident, the subtle nod an assurance that there are plenty more opportunities to come.

One by one, the others filter out of the kitchen to find their way back to their dorms until only Fareeha, Jesse and Jack are left.

“You don’t have to do this.” Fareeha hides a yawn behind her hand.

Jesse smiles as he picks up a few more empty glasses from the coffee table and carries them back to the kitchen counter where stacks of dirty dishes are already waiting. It’s an old argument, and an old tradition, one that Jesse hasn’t held up for years but plans to stick to tonight. They have high-tech dishwashers and sanitizers with inbuilt drying functions that take less than ten minutes to deal with far bigger mountains of greasy pots and pans, but Jesse has always liked the homeliness of doing the dishes the old-fashioned way. It gives his hands something to do at the end of the night while his mind has a chance to cool down from the emotional high that comes with having a good time with people who genuinely care about each other. And it’s far more sensible than going for a smoke with that nice bottle of whiskey still waiting for him next to the case of cigars on the table.

“I know I don’t,” he says. “Still doing it.” He is quick to take another stack of plates from her when she sways sleep-drunkenly towards him. “It’s been a good night. Thanks for this ‘lil shindig.”

“Don’t thank me,” she says around another yawn. “’t was Jack’s idea, not mine.”

“Pardon?” Jesse raises an eyebrow and throws a glance at Jack.

Jack still sits where he sat all night, and Jesse has a hard time remembering if the man has moved at all. From behind his visor, because the bastard still can’t see shit without the damn thing despite Angela’s best efforts, Jack is looking right back at him, as stone-cold sober as he was at the start of the evening.

A tired but honest smile appears on Jack’s face as he pushes himself up from his chair. “I’ll help Jesse finish up. Go to bed, Reeha.”

“Only if you two promise not to fight,” Fareeha says. Before Jesse can get over his surprise to hear Jack call her by the name usually only used by himself or her mother, she has skillfully relieved him of his gun once more.

“Hey.” Jesse tries to catch her, but she dances away from him, a lot more deftly than she ought to in her state.

She winks at him, grinning just like old times. “I’ll take good care of her, I promise.” She clutches Peacekeeper to her chest like a cat that got the candy and backs away towards the door. “She’ll be in your room waiting for you. Goodnight, Gentlemen.”

“Night kid,” Jack says, much too fondly. He picks up the last couple of plates from the table and makes his way over to Jesse. “You okay doing the washing up?” He slips the plates into the sink and pulls a towel from the cupboard.

Jesse stares at him, not quite open-mouthed, but it’s close enough. Jack fucking Morrison, who has perhaps felt just as raw and vulnerable as Jesse did over the past few weeks and hasn’t even as much as looked at him for the last few days, is offering to do the dishes with him. Has organized a damn party for him. If Jesse didn’t know any better, he could even be fooled into believing that Jack actually cares.

He stops himself. He does know better. It’s been a damn long time since he’s seen this side of Jack, but he does know it’s there. It’s a rare thing, one that not many know about and even fewer have ever witnessed. Jesse has. He has also been at the receiving end of it once before, the night after the complete clusterfuck that was Rialto. The situation might have been different, but Jesse reckons their emotions must have been much the same. Both of them questioning the actions of the one person they thought they knew. Both of them conflicted between what their heads are telling them and what their hearts want to believe.

Jack clears his throat and nods towards the sink, and Jesse remembers himself.

“Yeah, sure.” He tucks a few unruly strands of hair behind his ear and takes the sponge and fishes the first plate out of the soapy dishwater. He quickly washes it off before handing it over to Jack. “Uhm. And thank you for arranging all this tonight. I had a great time.”

Jack chuckles as he takes the plate, the wrinkles around his eyes peeking out from behind the edges of his visor. “It sure looked like it.”

Jesse huffs. Of course, Jack’s thinking of Jesse’s little display with Hanzo. And who can blame him? It’s been on Jesse’s mind, too, and will most likely make for a few more whispered conversations among the other agents for a good few days. He can’t say he minds. He doesn’t regret a thing. If anything, Hanzo’s kiss probably taught him a thing or two about what he really wants to happen between the two of them.

This thing between him and Jack, though, he’s not so sure about. They have a lot more in common these days, be it having their faces printed on a most-wanted poster, appreciating the luxury of having Angela on base to tend to all their countless battle scars, or their shared anger at Gabe. It still hasn’t turned them into friends, and Jesse doubts it ever will.

They fall into an easy rhythm. Jesse washes and rinses, Jack dries up and puts everything where it belongs. It’s an odd quid pro quo that feels familiar and strange at the same time. Falling back into military mode when tasked with something mundanely repetitive, they make quick work of the mountain of dishes, and Jesse feels a hint of disappointment. Jack’s presence isn’t unpleasant, but the sooner they finish up, the sooner Jesse will have to return to his room, and he isn’t quite ready to let go of the blissful afterglow he’s been bathing in since Hanzo climbed off his lap earlier.

“Why the party, Jack?” The question is out before his mind can even consider vetoing it.

Jack keeps his eyes on the cutlery he’s drying, one piece at a time, before dropping them into the drawer. “You needed a little pick-me-up after that stunt Gabe pulled. So did I.”

“You could say that,” Jesse grumbles and grabs the last plate, scrubbing it with more rigor than strictly necessary. He tries not to let the admission affect his mood, but to no avail. With a sigh, he lets the plate slide back into the water where it hits the bottom of the sink with a muted clunk. “Why?” He braces himself against the counter. Between them, they could probably spend hours speculating about Reaper’s intention and what Gabe has turned into, but Jesse’s not one to gossip, and neither is Jack. Nor are they particularly good at talking to each other, so even to start a conversation, let alone one like this, doesn’t come easily. “What’s he got to gain?”

Jack steps closer than he has dared to for years but doesn’t look at him. Instead, he reaches past Jesse’s arm and pulls the abandoned plate from the soapy water. “I don’t know.” He sounds resigned but not angry as he continues his tasks of drying up with the same determination with which he tackles everything else he does. “I haven’t exactly the best track record understanding what goes on in that man’s head.” His hands still. He turns and frowns at Jesse. “Not everything we do for someone else has to have a gain. You know that, right?”

Jesse swallows. Of course, he does. But when has that ever applied to him? To them? They’re here to do a job; their relationships exist because people with an even worse résumé than theirs will always thrive for more money, more weapons, more power to control them all. He can be charming all right, but ultimately, Jesse’s here because of his skills with a gun. That’s why Gabe picked him all those years ago.

“Jesse.” Jack puts down the plate and reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

Jesse is glad he can’t see Jack’s eyes. He’s even more grateful when the sound of the kitchen door opening stops his train of thought and with it whatever painful revelation was just about to break his measly brain, and possibly his heart. They both turn to look at the new arrival.

Hanzo stops just inside the door, narrowing his eyes as they flicker from Jack to Jesse and back to Jack. His hair is tied up, and he’s still wearing the same white t-shirt from earlier, only having swapped his jeans for a pair of sweatpants. Jesse smiles when he notices the pair of flip-flops Hanzo’s wearing.

Jack’s face hardens, but he gives Jesse’s shoulder another light squeeze before he drops his hand. “I’ll leave you to it.” He folds his towel into a precise square and places it on the counter before making his way over to the table to pick up his tablet.

Hanzo meets him as they both round the end of the table, and Jack stops him with a hand on his chest. Hanzo looks down at Jack’s hand with such disgust it almost rivals his outrage at Lena asking him to eat one of her marmite sandwiches.

“Fraternizing with your fellow teammates is against the rules, Agent Shimada,” Jack says, voice low. “I would’ve thought you, of all people, would be a stickler for those rules.”

Hanzo slowly lifts his head and raises that unimpressed eyebrow Jesse has become very fond of over the last few months. No matter how much he respects Jack for what he’s done for him tonight, he can’t help but enjoy Hanzo’s petulance and the disdain with which he looks at the old commander.

“It may have been in the rulebook when you were in charge, Agent Morrison,” Hanzo says. “But I can assure you, it is not in the rulebook Winston transmitted to my device when I joined _this_ organization.”

Jesse smirks. If Jack wants to get a rise out of Hanzo, he clearly needs to try harder.

Jack stares at Hanzo, then removes his hand from Hanzo’s chest with an exaggerated sigh. “Pot, meet kettle. Insufferable, the both of you.” With a last shake of his head, he steps around Hanzo and walks out of the room.

Hanzo watches him until the door has firmly shut behind him before he turns back towards Jesse. “I was hoping you would still be here.” He seems cautious when he approaches, but there’s a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. “I am glad you are.”

“So am I.” Jesse grins and pulls the plug from the sink to let the water drain. “What do I owe the pleasure to?”

“Genji, as a matter of fact.” Hanzo stops a few feet away from him, close enough for them to reach out and touch, if they were so inclined, but far enough to show he won’t invade Jesse’s space without being invited in.

“Genji?” Jesse frowns. He busies himself with wiping down the counter and hopes, for his own good, that Genji hasn’t spilled more about how rocky their relationship once was during Genji’s earlier days with Blackwatch.

Hanzo doesn’t reply straight away. He looks away, eyes lingering on the chair Jesse’s been sitting on all evening, and Jesse mentally prepares himself for whatever will get thrown his way next. He doesn’t have to wait for long, as Hanzo smiles and meets his gaze. “He is of the opinion that some things should not be left hanging. Those are his words, not mine.”

Jesse barks a laugh. “I bet they are.”

“And I agree with him.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Jesse chuckles, relieved. “But since when do you take advice from your brother? Did something happen?” He nudges Hanzo playfully with his elbow, determined to make clear that he means no malice.

Thankfully, Hanzo is still smiling. He studies his feet, then Jack’s neatly folded towel left behind on the counter. He appears somewhat lost in his thoughts when he reaches for the towel and wipes over a spot Jesse has missed. “I am trying to trust his wisdom. He has always been far better at seeing things for what they are instead of what we make them seem to be.”

Jesse watches as Hanzo unfolds and refolds the towel before placing it back on the counter. He doesn’t seem quite finished yet, so Jesse waits him out.

“Genji has always been wise beyond his years,” Hanzo continues. “It was _me_ who took a long time to see it.” When he looks back at Jesse, his expression is sincere but untroubled. “It is not always easy, but I am glad he has forgiven me.”

“Me too,” Jesse says quietly. Jack’s words from earlier echo through his head. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to forgive Gabe. Genji makes it look easy, but Jesse isn’t Genji.

“Apologies, I did not come here to bring down the mood,” Hanzo says.

Jesse’s grateful for the diversion. As much as he wants to hear Hanzo’s side of the story, and maybe share some of his own past with him, he feels a little out of his depth after the evening they’ve had. He’s delighted when he notices a hint of a smile play on Hanzo’s lips.

“I came to ask if you would care to join me in the practice range tomorrow morning?” Hanzo asks.

Jesse can’t stop the grin spreading over his own face. “I’d love to.”

“Very well.” Hanzo nods. He clears his throat and steps forward, and Jesse turns naturally, more than happy to have Hanzo so close once more. They’re definitely close enough to touch now, and Jesse knows what’s coming when Hanzo lifts one hand. He hesitates, and Jesse holds his breath. “May I?”

“You most certainly may,” Jesse says. He gently tugs at Hanzo’s shirt and pulls him in.

Hanzo comes willingly. He leans up and finishes the aborted movement to cup Jesse’s cheek, fingertips running through Jesse’s beard before they settle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss is chaste, a simple press of Hanzo’s lips against his own, but the promise for more is there all the same. Jesse pulls Hanzo against his chest, and Hanzo doesn’t pull away. It feels almost too innocent for two guys like them, but also so damn right in the way they come together so easily. Who would’ve thought?

It’s Hanzo who eventually breaks the kiss, who lets his hand glide down Jesse’s neck, and then his arm, before it falls away. “Goodnight, Jesse McCree,” he says, and Jesse can’t quite take his eyes of the small upward curve on Hanzo’s lips.

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

Hanzo huffs a quiet laugh, and Jesse almost stops him when he turns to leave but restrains himself. There’s no rush. They have time. No need to force it.

“I will be at the range at seven hundred sharp tomorrow morning.” Hanzo smirks at him over his shoulder.

“Wait, what? Are you serious? I can’t be going shooting that early. I’ll still be half-hangover.”

Hanzo chuckles. “Punishment for shooting at my brother that ‘one time’. And I have seen you shoot Torbjörn’s bots with considerably more alcohol in your blood than you have now. Don’t be late, cowboy.”

“Huh.” It’s all Jesse’s mind comes up with as he tries to figure out where Hanzo might have hidden when he was wreaking havoc amongst the bots. He draws a blank and runs out of time to come up with another excuse when the door slides shut behind Hanzo. “Well, he ain’t wrong there,” he says to himself. And truth be told, who’d want to find an excuse after an invitation like that. Certainly not him.

 

* * *

 

It’s six month later when Jesse learns the dragons’ names.

It’s a straight-forward recon mission. One of Winston’s contacts has been reporting an increase of activity at Shanghai’s old Pudong Airport. It’s been over three decades since any flights have landed or taken off from its runways, its counters and gates long lost to vegetation and decay ever since the Omnics overran the airport during the Crisis. Fallen and rusting bastion units litter the baggage halls and walkways, and other than a few security guards employed by the Chinese government to keep watch over the place, no one ever really shows up there anymore. Or at least didn’t until recently.

They take Bastion, because for some reason he knows the nearby nature reserve like the back of his hand. Ana and Hanzo are drafted in for long-range surveillance, while Jesse and Lena make up the ground force.

With Bastion’s help they find easy cover in concealed passages and gangways to sniff out the old terminals without being discovered themselves. It doesn’t take them long to figure out what’s happening when the first black Talon dropship lands only a day into their mission, and then every day after.

What they don’t expect is the chaos that breaks out on the fourth day. At first it looks like the Chinese security guards are at the receiving end of some kind of deal, unloading pallet after pallet of cylinders and unmarked tanks, storing them diligently in one of the hangars. At the end of each exchange, a large envelope is handed to one of the Talon men, and then the dropship is off again, disappearing as swiftly as it arrived. Only on the fourth day, there is no envelope, and an argument ensues. Shots are fire, and then the first cylinder blows up. Then another and with it the rest of the building.

The shockwave rips Jesse off his feet and swallows his voice and his cry for Hanzo. Hanzo’s on the roof, and as Jesse hits the ground, he can only watch Hanzo losing his foothold, arms flailing through the air, as the building crumbles underneath him. Then Hanzo disappears into a cloud of rubble and smoke, a flash of blue lightning the last thing Jesse sees before the air around him turns into dust as well.

A current of heat shoots through him, his arms burning as if he’s touched a live wire. All care to remain undiscovered is forgotten. He’s back on his feet and racing towards the hangar. He barks Hanzo’s name into the comm, and so does Ana from somewhere else, but no one replies. The silence on the other side is deafening, no crackling, no interference. Just the numbing muteness that comes with the pressure of a blast. Or a blown-up comm. Hell, Jesse hopes it’s the former.

“Agent Shimada is alive,” Athena suddenly announces, and the air rushes back into Jesse’s lungs.

He rounds a pile of rubble that’s still shifting, and there Hanzo is, surrounded by concrete and pieces of corrugated roof. One of his legs is trapped up to his thigh, but his attempt to pull himself free is futile. He twists this way and that way, sluggish and disoriented. Jesse’s never seen him so out of it, and he’s not sure Hanzo recognizes him when Jesse grabs him by his shoulders.

“Stop moving,” Jesse growls and takes Hanzo’s face between his hands, forcing him to look at him. “You’ll lose your leg if you don’t stop.” There’s no way on earth they’ll get out of this without help.

Hanzo stills, eyes wide but unfocused. They flicker away, then back to Jesse and away again. There’s blood oozing from a cut in Hanzo’s hairline and a streak of scrapes across the left side of his face. His jacket is shredded in places, but the armor underneath seems to have prevented the worst. Hanzo sways. His eyelids flutter.

“Hey, hey.” Jesse tightens his hold and gives him a little shake. “Look at me, darlin’. You have to stay awake, okay? Stay with me.” He quickly taps his earpiece. “Ana, I’ve got him. Might need a strong hand to get us outta here, but he’s breathing.” Hanzo scrunches his nose at him, dark eyebrows drawing together. “And grumpy.”

Another tank explodes, and Jesse throws himself over Hanzo, trying to protect him from the shower of debris that rains down on them. He winces when a large stone crunches against his shoulder while Hanzo pushes and kicks underneath him.

“We’ve got visual.” Ana’s voice comes through the comm. “Bastion’s on his way.”

The dust settles, and Jesse looks up. They’re no worse off than before. Hanzo’s leg is still trapped and there’s some shooting and shouting going on somewhere to their left, but at least with the extra rubble surrounding them, they’ve gained some cover. He steadies Hanzo with one hand and readies Peacekeeper with the other. He just hopes that Bastion gets to them sooner rather than later.

It’s then, on that woeful pile of rubble at the corner of the hangar, with Hanzo on the verge of passing out, that the spirits emerge from Hanzo’s arm and whisper their names into Jesse’s consciousness.

It’s like nothing Jesse has ever experienced, a forceful sensation that tingles on his skin and rings in his ears. And even though Jesse wouldn’t have a clue how to repeat the string of sounds he has just heard, he knows immediately that he won’t ever have to. He’s been entrusted with something that resides beyond the realms of the living, something that doesn’t need words to be spoken out loud to make him understand. An emotion that, once known, cannot be forgotten. A secret only entrusted to the ones Hanzo is willing to give his heart to.

Jesse hangs on to that as his own heart thumps hard against his ribcage. He grips Hanzo tight while Peacekeeper and the two shimmering spirits stand guard over them. It doesn’t take Bastion long to find them, but Jesse thinks he might have just lived through the longest few minutes of his life.

Hours later, on their way back to Gibraltar, Jesse also learns that Hanzo takes to being strapped to a medical bed just as well as he does to being trapped under a concrete boulder. Which is to say, even under the influence of pain medication and sedatives, the bastard is still strong enough to give Jesse a black eye for his efforts to calm him down. But he also discovers that all it takes to stop Hanzo’s rant and resistance is three words. Three words that have been sitting heavy on Jesse’s mind for weeks and finally roll of his tongue as if they were always meant to.

 

**_ The End _ **

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://willowdeville.tumblr.com/)


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